Lethal Obsession
by prophet87
Summary: Chloe and Oliver are engaged, and the Green Arrow is at the height of his powers. Everything seems perfect, but one man's jealousy is about to turn murderous, with potentially fatal consequences... Sequel to "Consequences."
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys! So here we go – the start of my fifth Green Arrow story. It picks up two months after the events of "Consequences," when Chloe and Oliver were forced into a game of life and death by Winslow Schott, aka Toyman. Don't worry if you haven't read my other stories, as this one is self-contained; however, it will make more sense if you remember the following:

Chloe and Oliver are now engaged, their relationship having developed over my previous four stories.

Lex is now locked up in a secret Queen Industries facility, having discovered Oliver's identity as the Green Arrow.

Jimmy's love for Chloe has made him deeply jealous of Oliver. This jealously has turned more and more sinister in recent stories, with him secretly trying to engineer Oliver's death.

This story is going to build on the idea of Jimmy trying to break Chloe and Oliver apart. There are going to be some surprises along the way (including the set-up for another possible story), and, me being me, lots of angst – well, you wouldn't expect anything else, would you?

* * *

**Chapter One: To spoil a perfect day**

Could it get any better than this?

It was a question Chloe had asked herself a lot in recent weeks. Now, as she sat outside her favorite coffee shop in the heart of Metropolis, bathed in the sunlight that beamed down from a crystal clear sky, the answer seemed never clearer. Two months had passed since her ordeal at the hands of Winslow Schott, and at last the memory of those terrible days was fading. More importantly, Oliver too seemed to be putting his experiences at the hands of the madman behind him; in fact, he appeared to be putting all the traumas of the past months firmly to the back of his sub-consciousness. The physical scars had healed, and if anything he now seemed stronger than ever, in both mind and body. It was as if he had been given a new lease of life, as if his brush with death had left him rejuvenated. This had proved to be bad news for the criminals of the city, of course; like a one-man army, Oliver's Green Arrow alter ego had cut a swathe of destruction through the Metropolis underworld since he had recovered from the wounds that Schott had inflicted upon him. The Syndicate that had controlled the city's supply of drugs had been forced to abandon its operation, its local leaders captured by the Archer and delivered, bound and humiliated, to the central police station. Chloe smiled as she recalled the sensation that Oliver's actions had caused; five of the city's most wanted crime bosses, lying trussed up and helpless outside the rear entrance to the station house, each with an arrow tied in his mouth. Oliver had an eye for the theatrical, but that day took the reputation of the Arrow to an entirely new level. Now the media couldn't get enough of the mysterious vigilante who had achieved in the space of a few weeks what the combined efforts of the various law enforcement agencies had failed to do in years; destroy organised crime in Metropolis. The Arrow was now more than a man – he was fast becoming a legend.

Yet, despite all of that, it was not Oliver's achievements as the Green Arrow that gave her a feeling of warmth inside to match the warmth of the sun that now fell across her face. It was something far simpler, something unconnected with secret double lives or acts of heroism on the streets of Metropolis.

Love.

It was love that explained the smile that was never far from her lips these days, love that filled her with a strange mixture of excitement and deep inner contentment. She still had to pinch herself every now and again, to convince herself that it really was all true; she really was engaged to one of the country's most eligible bachelors, a man who just months earlier had literally had scores of women throwing themselves at his feet. But that was all part of the past; now Oliver Queen only had eyes for her. And he did love her – she could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, the way he held her so tenderly after they made love to each other. His love for her was as deep as her love for him, the connection they shared with each other perhaps impossible for anyone who has not experienced true love to ever fully understand. They were perfect for each other, and soon the miracle that was their finding each other would be complete, and she would become Mrs Oliver Queen.

Mrs Oliver Queen. Who would have thought a year ago that soon she would be married to her very own knight in green leather, a man whose gorgeousness was only surpassed by the beauty of his personality? There could be no doubt about it – she really was the luckiest woman alive.

The roar of a motorcycle's engine sounded above the usual din of the passing traffic. A number of heads turned, to be joined by still more as the red Ducati glided to a halt in front of Chloe's table. Sitting astride the powerful machine was the tall figure of a man, clad head to toe in black leather. The sun glinting on the highly polished chrome and paintwork of the bike, coupled with the lean, well muscled figure of the mysterious biker, was an arresting site, and not a few of those sitting out enjoying their morning latte found themselves looking longer than was normal at the new arrival. Chloe smiled; only she knew the identity of the young biker who was now reaching to take off his helmet, and it was so typical of him to make himself the center of attention, almost without trying...

"Ready?" said Oliver, finally revealing himself to the assembled onlookers, a broad grin on his face.

Was that a gasp that Chloe heard from the young woman sitting at the next table? It might well have been, because Oliver's effortless good looks had rarely seemed so stunning; the shock of blond hair, slightly dampened by sweat, sitting atop that incredible, flawless face, glistening with the moisture of perspiration in the bright morning sun. For a split second she was reminded of her first meeting with Oliver, when his appearance had left her breathless; that had been her "wow" moment, and she never ceased to get a child-like thrill when others experienced the same reaction over a man who now only had eyes for her.

She reached across for her helmet, which sat on an empty chair to her left. As she took her position behind Oliver on the bike, pulling on her helmet and wrapping her arms around his body, she was aware of a dozen pairs of eyes watching her. Were they jealous? Probably – hell, she'd be jealous if she was them. But she didn't care – this was her fantasy, her perfect dream, and she was living it.

Another roar of the Ducati's engine and the two of them sped off, Chloe holding on to Oliver as he expertly weaved his way through the busy mid-morning traffic. The conversations of the other customers at the coffee shop resumed, the brief drama of Oliver's appearance no longer commanding their attention. Only one pair of eyes continued to watch as the Ducati disappeared into the distance, a pair of eyes that had been watching and waiting from a doorway on the other side of the street ever since Chloe had arrived there thirty or so minutes earlier.

The man pulled his cell from the pocket of his jacket, and swiftly placed a call. It only rang once, before a voice could be heard on the other end of the line; it was as if the call was expected.

"_Yes?"_

"Make the call."

And with that the man hung up. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, before turning and walking purposefully off in the opposite direction to that taken by the bike and its riders. Outwardly the man appeared calm, but inside his heart was beating furiously. Two months of careful planning were now coming to a head, and he was acutely aware that the call he had just made had started a process that would soon gather an unstoppable momentum of its own. The prize was great – the love of the woman who he desired more than anything else in the world. Would that be worth it? Was the love of Chloe Sullivan worth a man's life? Worth committing murder for?

Yes – yes was the answer he had arrived at long before this moment.

He could not live without Chloe – he could not bear to see her in the arms of another. If that meant he had to kill, then so be it – nothing else mattered anymore.

But that was in the future. For now Jimmy Olsen took satisfaction in the thought of what lay ahead for his rival as he sped out of the city.

_Enjoy the ride while you can, Oliver – because I don't think you're going to like how it ends._

* * *

The city was behind them now, and at last the Ducati was able to show what it could do. The open road lay before them, and as Oliver accelerated away Chloe felt exhilarated, even euphoric. The roar of the air rushing past filled her ears, and as she crouched in behind Oliver's reassuring figure she could sense the speed of the machine as it cut its path along the highway. There was something thrilling, something profoundly elemental about the experience; she loved it, and never failed to jump at the chance to join Oliver when he said he was going to give one of his bikes a run out. Perhaps it was because in some way the bike represented freedom, an escape from the pressures and commitments of life as Metropolis's most talked about couple. Here, hurtling down an almost empty road, they were free to be themselves, shorn of the complications that his double life as a billionaire businessman and costumed vigilante brought with it. They were just two young lovers, enjoying being together behind the anonymity of their tinted visors; for Chloe, that was as close to perfect as it was possible to be.

As Oliver negotiated a curve in the road the bike banked slightly to the left, and Chloe found herself gripping her lover that little bit more tightly. He felt good, his tight abs well defined beneath the smooth leather of his biker jacket. Chloe smiled to herself, once more feeling the thrill of a teenager as she delighted in the fact that this most handsome, this most masculine of men was hers, and hers alone.

Suddenly the wail of a police siren cut through the by now familiar sound of the wind rushing past. Chloe was aware of Oliver glancing in his mirror, before starting to slow the bike down; within a few seconds he'd brought the Ducati to a halt by the side of the road. Uncertain what was going on, Chloe glanced behind, to find that a police car had pulled up just a few yards behind them.

"What's happening? What do they want?" she asked, having followed Oliver's example and removed her helmet.

"It's probably nothing – relax," replied Oliver, sensing her concern. He stepped off the bike, before turning and walking towards the car and the two officers who had got out to meet them.

"Hi guys! Hey, I'm sorry about the speed back there – guess I still haven't got used to what this little baby can do," said Oliver, an easy grin on his face. If he was hoping the famous Queen charm was going to work its usual magic, it was immediately clear he was going to be disappointed; the two officers returned his gaze stony-faced.

"Mr Queen – Mr Oliver Queen?" asked one of the officers, viewing Oliver suspiciously.

"Yeah...that's me," said Oliver, his tone less certain now; he hadn't expected them to know his name.

"Mr Queen, we have information that leads us to believe that you are carrying illegal drugs on your person."

There was silence for a moment, Oliver not quite believing what he'd just heard.

"Really? This is some sort of joke, right?" he said finally, a half smile on his lips; the accusation was so incredible he suspected that the two officers who stood in front of him were not officers at all, but part of some sort of elaborate wind-up organised by Bart or one of the others.

"No joke, sir. Now, if you'd just like to raise your arms to your sides, my colleague here needs to search you."

Again Oliver looked at the two men, as if he were waiting for them to burst out laughing and reveal it was all a gag after all.

"No – sorry guys, but I'm not buying it. Who put you up to this? Bart, right? I must admit, the squad car is a nice touch. Tell him I'm impressed – I really am. But Chloe and me, we're out of here."

With that he turned and started to walk back towards Chloe. Her ashen face told him immediately that something was wrong, and the words that followed confirmed it.

"Stop right there!" demanded the officer. Even before Oliver turned to face him, he knew that the man had pulled a gun; the sight of it being aimed straight at his head at last convinced him that this was no practical joke.

"Davis, search him!" ordered the officer with the gun. The other man stepped forward, and began to frisk Oliver, who never once took his eyes from the man who continued to train his weapon at him.

"This is all some big mistake," he said, trying to remain calm. "I don't know who told you I was carrying drugs, but it's crazy, I'm..."

"Found something!" interrupted the officer who was searching Oliver. He reached inside one of the front pockets of Oliver's jacket, and pulled out a small plastic bag, inside which could be seen a dozen or so light green pills.

"It's Zed, Cal, I'm sure of it!" he exclaimed breathlessly, clearly excited that his search had brought dividends.

Zed was one of the new designer drugs that had hit Metropolis in the last year. Highly addictive, it had fuelled a mini crime wave as addicts resorted to anything to get the money for their next fix. The activities of the Green Arrow had all but destroyed the supply of Zed to the city over the previous two months, an irony not lost on the young man who now stared incredulously at the small bag being held up next to him.

"No, no, that's not right – it can't be," said Oliver, reaching instinctively for the bag. This was a mistake; nimbly the officer side-stepped Oliver, before grabbing the young hero and slamming him hard down on to the front of his patrol car.

"Looks like we've bagged ourselves a celebrity, Cal!" gloated the officer as he roughly pulled Oliver's arms behind his back, before placing him in handcuffs. "Oliver Queen, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent..."

Oliver didn't hear any more. It had all happened so quickly; he felt confused, disorientated. Where had the pills come from? How did these guys know they were there? So many unanswered questions, his brain was spinning. He glanced to his side, and caught a glimpse of Chloe, her face as white as a sheet. What was she thinking? Surely she wouldn't believe any of this, would she? He needed to talk to her, to reassure her...

But that was for later. For now he had to deal with the crisis at hand, a crisis he never thought he'd have to face.

He, Oliver Queen, was under arrest.

* * *

So there you go, guys – what did you think? Evil Jimmy is back with a vengeance – and his wicked scheme has only just begun! I've appreciated all the support I've had with my other stories, and I hope that you will be as generous with this one. Please, please, please leave a review if you can – they mean so much, and without feedback it is so difficult to keep the writing going.

Chlollie for Season Ten!


	2. Chapter 2: The Seeds of Doubt

**Chapter Two: The Seeds of Doubt**

"How is she?"

"She's okay – I think. You know Chloe – it's hard to say."

Clark looked from Jimmy towards the large couch that stood to one side of the spacious open plan area that was the heart of the Queen penthouse. He'd made his way there as soon as he'd heard the news – which, given Oliver's status as the media's favorite pin-up boy, was everywhere. He knew that she'd need him, and one look at the fragile figure who now sat on that couch confirmed that his instincts had been right – Chloe needed her friends around her, now more than ever. He glanced back at Jimmy, who met his look of concern with one of his own; he was glad the young photographer was already here, because he couldn't bear the thought of Chloe spending any time alone at a time like this. After all she'd been through, she didn't deserve this – she didn't deserve this at all.

"Hey, Chloe, I came as soon as I heard," he said quietly, making his way over to where she sat. Chloe didn't respond, but instead stared intently at the TV screen in front of her, which was carrying the story of the moment in all its terrible detail.

"_...The arrest of Mr Queen has caused a sensation, and marks yet another twist in the incredible story of the Queen dynasty. The billionaire playboy, who recently shocked Metropolis society by announcing his engagement to Chloe Sullivan, a reporter from the town of Smallville, has already lived a life filled with more than its fair share of drama – orphaned at a young age, inheriting a personal fortune to rival that of anyone in the country, and twice given up for dead after air crashes in the Caribbean. Bill, what do you make of this? Are we seeing yet another celebrity fall from grace in spectacular style?"_

"_We mustn't pre-judge this, Steve – remember that these are only allegations at this stage. But it certainly doesn't look good for him. The police have confirmed that they have charged Mr Queen with possession of Zed, the drug that has swept the city in recent months. Details of how and when the arrest was made are sketchy, but I can exclusively reveal that he was apparently caught red-handed with the drug whilst out on his motorcycle earlier today. He has been granted bail, and I think we've got some pictures of him leaving the police station just a few minutes ago."_

The faces of the two men were replaced on the screen with images of Oliver at the center of a sea of photographers and journalists, all jostling to get the best position as the young man tried to force his way to a waiting car in the company of his lawyer and a police officer. Questions were being shouted at him from all directions, but Oliver did not respond to any of them; instead he looked straight ahead, his features fixed in a picture of grim determination.

"_Mr Queen, do you intend to contest the charges?"_

"_Are you addicted to Zed?"_

"_Have you sought help for your addiction?"_

"_Possession of Zed carries a jail term. How do you feel about doing time, Oliver?"_

" _Have you had any contact with the board of Queen Industries? Is your position on the board under threat?"_

"_What does your new fiancé say about this, Ollie? How does she feel to be engaged to a junkie?"_

"That's enough," said Clark, reaching for the remote and turning off the television. He sat down next to Chloe; her features were fixed, but Clark had known her long enough to recognise the mask she put on when inside she was feeling hurt and uncertain.

"It's all lies, Clark. What they're saying – it's all lies."

"Hey – it's okay," said Clark, reaching out and placing a reassuring arm around her. "I'm sure it's all some terrible mistake, yeah?"

"It was awful Clark – seeing him cuffed and taken away like that. And when they held up that packet – it was just too much."

"Packet? What packet?"

"The packet with the pills – they said it was Zed. They found it in Ollie's pocket – how did it get there, Clark? Someone must be trying to set him up, but why? Why would someone do that?"

Clark hesitated. This was the first he'd heard about the packet, let alone the fact that the cops had found it in Oliver's jacket. A flicker of doubt passed through his mind – it was no more than an instant, but Chloe, her senses attuned to even the slightest questioning of her lover's integrity, immediately sensed it.

"You don't believe it, do you?" she said defensively, pulling away from Clark and turning to look at him, her eyes filled with hurt and accusation. "He's being framed, Clark – can't you see that?"

"I'm sure you're right," said Clark, trying his best to pacify her. Her explanation of what had happened was the most plausible, after all, and he felt a pang of guilt that for a split second he had entertained the doubts that his old friend had detected.

At that moment the sound of the elevator door opening caused everyone to turn. Oliver stood framed in the entrance, obviously tired but relieved to be home once more.

"Ollie!" exclaimed Chloe, jumping up from the couch and running over to where he stood. She threw himself into his arms, pulling him close to her and burying her head deep into the supple leather of his jacket.

"Hey! If that's the welcome I get when I get arrested, I should do it more often," quipped Oliver, wrapping his arms around her. He smiled, but Clark and Jimmy could see that this was not the normal care-free smile of the young billionaire; behind the confident facade it was clear that he'd been through quite an ordeal over the previous few hours.

"Are you okay? What did they do to you?" demanded Chloe, when at last she removed her head from his chest.

"Do to me? These were the cops, Chloe – not Lex. They questioned me for a few hours – just what you'd expect, really – and then I got bail. Honestly? Running the gauntlet of the press was far worse than anything Metropolis's finest could throw at me."

"It's all over the news, Oliver," said Clark. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Clark – really, I just don't know," replied Oliver wearily. "All I can tell you is that when those two cops searched me they found a packet of Zed. How it got there – well, your guess is as good as mine."

"Someone is setting you up, Oliver," said Chloe, the joy of earlier now replaced with a look of concern. "Those cops didn't pull us over at random, remember – they said they were acting on a tip – off."

"Chloe's right," said Clark, perhaps eager to make up for the moment of doubt he had felt just seconds earlier. "This looks like a set – up. Who would do this? Who has a grudge against you?"

"How about every dealer and addict in the city, not to mention a couple of dozen mobsters and one or two crime syndicates."

"Is that what you think this is about? Someone knows you're the Green Arrow?"

"Maybe, Clark – maybe. For now I just want to get out of these clothes and have a long hot shower – questions later, okay?"

Oliver looked down at Chloe, who continued to hold on to him tightly. He'd glossed over the truth of what had happened whilst he was in custody. The cops had questioned him aggressively, clearly conscious of Oliver's status as a billionaire businessman and playboy; it was obvious that they were after his scalp, and he had been grateful for the presence of his lawyer, one of the best in the state. It had been a gruelling and unpleasant experience, and he was exhausted; Chloe's loving embrace was like balm to his troubled mind. Looking down at her she seemed the most beautiful thing in the world, and suddenly he was overcome with a need to have her, to lose himself in the touch of her skin and the taste of her lips. Only she could wash away the experience of the last few hours, cleanse his mind and body; he needed her, he needed her completely and without restraint.

"That shower can be a lonely place," he said suggestively, staring into her eyes. "And a massage right now would feel so good – how about it?"

Chloe blushed; she understood all too well Oliver's meaning, and what's more she could feel him stirring against her body. She knew he wanted her, and as she looked up into his sparkling brown eyes she wanted him – she wanted him so much! Suddenly the need to make love to him seemed almost overpowering; she wanted him to take her, and if that meant at that very moment then so be it – nothing else mattered.

A cough. Chloe and Oliver checked themselves, remembering that they were not alone.

"I guess we'll leave you guys to it, then," said Clark awkwardly. He could sense the power of the love that at that moment was drawing his two friends together, and its raw, instinctive passion made him feel uncomfortable and ill at ease.

"Sure, Clark," replied Oliver." And hey – thanks for coming over. I've got a feeling I'm going to be needing you guys a lot over the next few days."

"We'll come back tomorrow – maybe then we can try to figure out who would do this to you. Jimmy, let's go."

Clark glanced across at Jimmy, and just for a split second he thought he saw something unexpected in the eyes of the young photographer, a coldness that he had not caught sight of before. It was only there for an instant – so short a space of time in fact, that Clark almost doubted what he'd seen. Then it was as if it had never happened; the old Jimmy was back, nodding eagerly to Clark and almost stumbling over himself as he made for the elevator.

Within seconds the grille slid shut, and the sound of the elevator descending to the ground below filled the penthouse.

"Alone at last," whispered Oliver, once again staring down at Chloe.

"Are you sure you're okay? Who would do this, Oliver? Who..."

"Shhhhh," said Oliver, gently placing a finger over her lips. "We'll talk about that later, yeah? Now I only want one thing – and it's not talk."

Chloe smiled, the rush of emotions that Clark's cough had momentarily interrupted surging once more.

"Really? And what might that be, I wonder?" she responded playfully, tilting her head coquettishly to the side.

"Ohhh, I think you know."

And with that he kissed her; it was a passionate, forceful kiss, fuelled by the arousal that now swept through the young man's body. She responded with equal fervour, and before they knew what was happening they were stumbling backwards towards the door to the bathroom, their bodies locked together. It was a moment of complete release, the pressures of the last few hours at last forgotten. Their hands pawed each other's bodies as they savoured the taste of each other's mouths; it was as if they were feeding on each other, like starved animals in need of sustenance. In a few seconds they reached the door, and Chloe found herself trapped between the hard wood of its surface and the press of Oliver's body. She groaned, almost inaudibly; his hands were slipping under her clothing now, and his lips were caressing her neck. They both knew what must inevitably follow; it had happened so many times now. But that did not matter – to them their lovemaking was as fresh, as thrilling and raw, as it had been the first time.

They were as one – and no one could break them apart.

* * *

"I'm going to come back tomorrow – maybe when Oliver's had some time he'll be able to give us some leads about who might be behind all this."

Clark stood at the entrance to Oliver's building, ready to make his departure. He glanced across at Jimmy, but then paused; the young photographer looked distracted, uncertain.

"Jimmy, what's up?"

"Nothing...No, it's nothing. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, yeah?"

Jimmy had hesitated momentarily before he had replied; it was enough for Clark to sense something was wrong.

"Jimmy, what is it?"

"It's nothing, really. Just...No - I'll see you tomorrow."

"Jimmy, I know something's on your mind. Tell me – maybe I can help."

Jimmy paused again, looking at Clark as if he were trying to weigh up what was for the best.

"Jimmy..."

It's probably nothing, Clark – really. It's just this guy I know – the guy I used to get my...you know."

Clark did know. He'd been aware of Jimmy's drug problem for a while now, but had kept it a secret between the two of them. Jimmy had begged him not to tell Chloe, and the guy had appeared so distraught that he'd been found out that he felt he had no choice but to agree. He'd helped Jimmy to get some counselling, and as far as he knew he had been clean now for a few weeks.

"Go on."

"This guy – when I saw him last a couple of weeks ago he was boasting of how he was making big money off a new user. A young guy, he said – a famous guy, absolutely loaded. He said that if the press got hold of how this guy was using Zed it would be the scandal of the year."

This time it was Clark's turn to pause, taking in the full meaning of Jimmy's revelation.

"And you think he was talking about Oliver?" he said finally.

"Hey, Clark, I don't know – I just don't know. I don't want to believe it, but Ollie's been through a lot recently, and that can do things to a man – hell, if anyone should know, I do."

Much as Clark hated to admit it, but it did all make sense. Oliver had endured so much in recent months, what with Lex, Akunin and Schott – who knows how that might have affected him. Hadn't Chloe said she was worried that he wouldn't open up to her? Maybe he was bottling it all up, finding relief in the escape that Zed could provide. It wouldn't be the first time Oliver had taken to using drugs, after all – who could forget when he used that stuff to give himself enhanced powers of healing. And then there was the drinking...

"I'm sure I'm wrong, Clark," said Jimmy, the doubt in his voice undermining the meaning of his words.

"I hope so, Jimmy – I really do. This would destroy Chloe if she found out - you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, I know – I won't say a word Clark, honestly."

"We need to protect Chloe, Jimmy – and if he is using, Oliver's going to need our help. But we mustn't say anything until we're certain, yeah?"

Clark recalled Chloe's reaction when he showed a split second of doubt in Oliver earlier on – if Oliver was using, he wasn't going to risk his friendship with Chloe until he was absolutely sure of his facts.

"Sure, Clark – I understand."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Jimmy – you take care, yeah?"

Clark then turned and made his way off down the street. If he had turned back he would have been surprised by what he saw, for gone was the look of concern and regret on Jimmy's face, to be replaced by a broad grin.

_Well done, Jimmy, well done!_ he thought to himself as he watched Clark disappear into the crowd. _You played that perfectly! Nothing too blatant, but enough to plant that seed of doubt in dear, dumb Clark's mind. He believes Oliver is guilty now – I could see it in his eyes. He won't say anything yet, but that's okay – you've achieved what you wanted to achieve._

The second stage of Jimmy's plan was complete – time to move on to the third.

* * *

So Jimmy continues to spin his web - more to come in the next chapter. Thanks for all the positive feedback for the first chapter - it means much! I know a lot of you wanted some Chlollie love before the angst, so I hope this went a little way towards keeping you happy - the story's rating means you'll just have to imagine what went on in that shower!

It seems so long to wait before Season Ten begins - hopefully we'll get one or two spoilers soon. In the meantime please make this writer happy by leaving a little feedback - you know how much reviews mean to me!


	3. Chapter 3: The Sting

**Chapter Three: The Sting**

Oliver lay on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above. Dawn was breaking, and he could tell from the light that was seeping through the curtains that it was going to be another day of blue skies and warm sun in Metropolis. A perfect day, a day which stood in stark contrast to the clouds that filled his mind. He'd been awake for hours, turning the events of the previous day over in his mind again and again. Someone was trying to set him up, but who? And how had they managed to get that packet into his pocket without him noticing? He'd gone over all the times he'd worn his biker jacket over the previous two to three weeks, but try as he might he just could not see how anyone would have had the opportunity to plant anything on him. He'd worn it when he was out riding on the Ducati – what, maybe three or four times in the last fortnight? And he had no recollection of stopping anywhere for any length of time, still less of taking the jacket off at any point. It made no sense – the only time the jacket was left unattended was when it was left hanging up in the penthouse, and that would mean the person who was trying to frame him was someone with access to his home. That was an incredible suggestion, and one he had dismissed in an instant. Still, it left him with no leads – and no answers. Did someone know his secret identity? It was possible, he supposed, but the two most obvious people with a grudge – Lex and Schott – were safely locked up hundreds of miles away. But if not them, then who? It was a mystery, but one thing was certain – he was in a lot of trouble. It was all too clear that the cops were out to get a conviction; to them he was just some spoilt rich boy who deserved to be taught a lesson about the dangers of living the high life. It would go to trial, unless he could uncover who was really behind it all – and the press would have a field day. The crowd outside the station the previous day had been just a taste of what was to come, and the thought of living under the intense media spotlight in the weeks and months prior to any trial made his heart sink. How would he cope? More importantly, how would Chloe cope?

He rolled over onto his side. There, curled up peacefully beside him, was Chloe. He always thought she looked at her cutest when she slept, her face appearing almost angelic as the cares of the world slipped from her shoulders. It was a sharp contrast to a few hours earlier, when their love making had been at its most intense. First in the shower and later in the bedroom, they had surrendered to each other, making love time and time again as if their lives depended on it. It had been passionate, elemental love making, suffused with a rawness that they both enjoyed; the troubles of earlier in the day had been swept away in a wave of unrestrained physical and emotional ecstasy.

"_How I love you, Chloe Sullivan," _he thought to himself. _"But can I really put you through this? Can I really allow you to be chewed up by those vultures in the press?"_

As quietly as possible, he rolled over once more and swung his legs out and onto the floor. He knew that now dawn had arrived he was unlikely to be able to get any more sleep, so he silently stood up and made his way towards the door. He needed to be on the move, to be doing something; his weights beckoned, and he wondered if maybe some physical exercise would help clear his head. As he pulled on his sweat pants he looked once more at Chloe, still sleeping on the bed; the sight of her gave him a renewed sense of purpose, a determination to do everything he could to get to the bottom of this mystery before it plunged them both into a new and this time very public ordeal.

He turned and made his way out into the main living area of the penthouse, gently closing the door behind him. Seconds later and he was at his weights, beginning a workout that would stretch his body to the limit. He enjoyed the rush of adrenalin as his muscles began to work hard, stretched taut as he began to go through his routine with the dumbbells. Within minutes he was drenched in sweat, the moisture glistening on his lean frame as he continued to push himself harder and harder, taking on weights that he normally did not try; it was as if the exercise was therapeutic, a catharsis for all the long hours spent lying awake and thinking about the latest nightmare to befall him.

Suddenly he was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. He frowned as he lowered the dumbbell carefully to the floor, half suspecting that the voice that awaited him on the other end of the line would be some reporter fishing for an exclusive on how the billionaire was handling his dramatic fall from grace. Still, he knew he had to answer it, but it was with a mixture of trepidation and resignation that he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he said cautiously, half prepared to slam the receiver down as soon as any low-life reporter revealed himself; when the response came, it was not what he was expecting.

"_Mr Queen? Is that Oliver Queen?"_

It was a woman's voice, but instantly Oliver knew that this was no reporter. She spoke almost in a whisper, and sounded nervous, almost fearful; it was as if she was concerned that she was about to be discovered by some unknown danger.

"Yeah, this is Oliver Queen," replied Oliver, still sounding cautious. "Who is this?"

"_I know who's setting you up,"_ said the voice urgently. It was an abrupt statement, stark in its clarity; designed to get Oliver's attention, it succeeded in its objective.

"Who is this? Who's setting me up?" demanded Oliver; this time it was his voice which sounded urgent, tense.

"_Meet me at the back of Clancey's in an hour and I'll tell you everything," _replied the voice.

"Who are you? Tell me who you are!"

"_Clancey's in an hour – if you're not there, I'm not waiting."_

And with that the line went dead.

Oliver stood motionless for a few moments, trying to take in what he had just heard. He'd wanted a breakthrough, and this was certainly that – but what type of breakthrough? Immediately he wondered if it was some sort of trap; he'd walked into so many in recent times his antenna were finely attuned to even the slightest possibility of some sort of set-up. It was possible, of course, but there was something about the woman's voice, something about the anxiety that he could detect in her whispered words, that told him this was genuine. Besides, if his unseen tormentor intended to take him out then the back of Clancey's in broad daylight was a funny place to choose; there would be too many people about, too much of a risk of being caught. No, on balance this was no trap, but who was she? What did she know? He knew that he had little choice but to go to the meeting, and as he made his decision he glanced over at the bedroom door. Should he tell Chloe? For a split second he thought he would, but then he thought better of it; let her sleep on, and who knows – when she got up he might have got the information he needed to crack the mystery and clear his name.

He quickly showered, before pulling on a t shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He then grabbed his leather jacket and helmet before making for the door; it was ironic, but if he wanted to avoid the attention of the press the anonymity afforded by his biker gear was his best bet, despite the fact that it was in that very jacket that the drugs had been found.

His nightmare had started whilst he was wearing this jacket – maybe it would end whilst he was wearing it too.

* * *

Oliver looked around nervously as he took off his helmet. Everything appeared to be normal, with a steady stream of passers-by going about their business. Clancey's was a popular coffee shop in the heart of the city, and the alley to Oliver's right led down to the front of the business; Oliver could hear the buzz of people sitting out in the morning sun and enjoying watching the world go by. This was no place for an ambush, that much was clear, but still Oliver was on edge. His face was plastered over every front page in the city, and he was acutely aware of how today he was even more recognisable than normal. It just needed some member of the public to make a call and the press would be all over the place in an instant, probably scaring off his contact for good; for this reason he tried to keep as close to the wall as possible, turning his back on as many passers-by as he could.

"Mr Queen?"

Oliver turned. There, standing before him, was a woman, probably in her early twenties. A blonde with a good figure, she was the sort of woman who would turn heads when she walked into a room; normally Oliver would have noticed this, but instead his attention was focused on the young woman's expression. There was fear in her eyes, and she kept looking about her, as if worried that she was being watched.

"Who are you? What..."

"This way," interrupted the woman, turning and walking off down the sidewalk. Oliver hesitated for a moment, and then followed.

They did not walk far, before the woman turned into a narrow alley which led off the main road.

"Look, what's this all about? Who are you afraid of?" demanded Oliver, his curiosity aroused still further by the woman's furtive behaviour.

"If they find out I'm talking to you they'll kill me," she replied, her voice low and anxious. She had a hunted look about her, and now Oliver had chance to see her close up he could see the dark rings that circled her eyes. She seemed to be struggling to keep still, her head darting this way and that. _This is more than nerves_, thought Oliver to himself; _this girl is on something_.

"Who is "they"? Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I know who is setting you up."

"I'm listening."

"How much is it worth?"

_So that's what this is all about,_ thought Oliver to himself. The woman was on the make – chances are she'd seen the story on the TV and saw an opportunity to make a little money for herself. Needed cash for her next fix, no doubt. A gold-digger – just what he needed.

"Look, if you think you can get money out of me – forget it. You either tell me what you know, or I'm out of here, okay?"

The woman hesitated; it was obvious that she hadn't expected Oliver to play hardball.

"So what will it be?" demanded Oliver, calculating that a show of impatience would force the woman to show her hand.

"Look, I'm taking a big risk in coming here, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch," said Oliver, who then turned as if to leave. He took a couple of steps, before the woman's voice caused him to pause and turn.

"Is this what they found in your jacket pocket?" she said, holding a packet of pills in the air.

Oliver stared at the pills for a moment, before reaching out and taking them. He studied them closely; they were Zed alright, and the bag was exactly the same size as the one the cops had found in his jacket.

"This proves nothing," he said dismissively. "It's all over the papers that they found Zed on me – all this proves is that you can read."

"But how did I know they found them in your jacket pocket?"

Oliver paused. She was right – the fact that the pills had been found in his jacket pocket had not been released to the press. How did she know that? Was she for real after all?

"Lucky guess," he said, keen not to sound too impressed.

"Look, all I want is twenty thousand dollars – enough to make a fresh start somewhere new. That's nothing to you, is it? Now do you want to know who's setting you up or don't you?"

Again Oliver hesitated. The woman was holding out her hand, apparently determined to shake on the deal she was offering; reluctantly, Oliver finally took it, indicating his agreement.

"Okay, you got a deal. Now, tell me what you know."

"My dealer – his name is Mickey. A week ago I went to see him to pick up my stuff, only I had to wait – he was talking to some young guy, good looking. I overheard what they were saying – the young guy was looking for some Zed, but not for personal use. Said to Mickey that he had a score to settle – wanted to set up some rich guy, wanted to plant the Zed on him so that he'd break up with his fiancé."

"Go on."

"Mickey gave him the Zed – the guy said he was going to plant it in the other guy's jacket, and then call the cops so that he'd get pulled over when he was out on his bike. Said the guy owned a really flash bike – a ducati, I think he said – and that he wanted the fiancé to be there to watch when the rich guy was arrested."

Oliver did not respond. Everything the woman had described – the bike, the Zed, Chloe's presence – it all sounded exactly as it had happened. Incredible as it seemed, it appeared that she was telling him the truth.

"So? When do I get my money?"

"Can you describe this guy? What did he look like?"

"I can do better than that – I've got a name. When Mickey was saying goodbye to the guy, he called him "Kent."

Oliver was silent for a moment. His face gave away nothing, his features frozen, unreadable. Inside, however, his mind was reeling. Kent? _Kent!_ It was impossible – no, more than that, it was _absurd_. Clark the one who had set him up – madness! Sheer madness!

"What did you say?" he said after a few seconds, his voice unnaturally quiet.

"Kent – Mickey called the guy Kent."

"And you're sure about that?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Then you're a liar."

Oliver said this with such complete conviction that for a moment the woman seemed at a loss as to how to respond. At last she seemed to gather herself together, but it was clear that she was rattled.

"Look, I'm telling you the truth, yeah? Don't blame me for what I heard. Now, when do I get my money?"

"I'm not giving you a cent," hissed Oliver, reaching out and grabbing the woman by the arm. "Now who put you up this? Who's setting me up?"

"Let go – you're hurting me!" cried the woman, her fear audible in her voice.

"Tell me, or so help me I'll..."

Oliver's words were cut short as the woman let out a piercing scream. Without thinking he let go, and this was all the opportunity she needed; instantly she made her break for freedom, running out of the alley and off down the main road. Oliver made to give chase, but then stopped; after his arrest for drug possession the last thing he needed was to be accused of attacking some Zed addict in downtown Metropolis. He stood for a moment, trying to make sense of the events that had unfolded over the previous few minutes. What the hell was going on? Why was Clark's name being used in this way? It made no sense – no sense at all.

* * *

"He didn't buy it."

Fifteen minutes after her encounter with Oliver, and the woman stood in a first floor room overlooking the alley where she had met the young billionaire. Her voice was different now; less edgy, more controlled.

"He will. He just needs time – and a little encouragement."

The second voice came from the man who sat by the window, a camera clasped firmly in his hands. He didn't even look up to speak to the woman, but simply stared at the display screen of his camera, smiling as he reviewed the shots he'd taken over the previous half hour.

"Did you get the shot?" asked the woman, walking over to where the man sat.

"Oh yeah – I got the shot," he replied, his satisfaction all too clear. "And if I'm not mistaken, this is it."

He turned the camera round in her direction, so she could see the photo he had displayed in the viewing screen. There, the image remarkably clear, was a picture of Oliver taking the packet of Zed from the woman just minutes earlier.

"I'll give you one thing," she said, admiring the picture. "You take one hell of a photo."

Jimmy Olsen grinned.

"Yeah, I do, don't I? And that is one hell of a photo."

* * *

So Jimmy's plan is beginning to take shape - he's got loads more mischief to come, and things are going to get a lot worse, I promise!

Thanks to those who posted a review of the last chapter, although I'm a little sad that enthusiasm for this story seems to be falling away more quickly than with my previous stories. I'll try to get a chapter up next week, but no guarantees - I'm very busy at the moment, and with interest waning I don't feel like like pushing myself to get the next installment up.


	4. Chapter 4: An Impossible Choice

**Chapter Four: An Impossible Choice**

"I'm sorry, Clark – I really am. I would have given anything to have been wrong."

Jimmy's words barely registered with Clark. The two men stood in the kitchen of Jimmy's basement apartment, as Clark continued to stare at the photo that the young photographer had just handed to him, trying to decide what to do for the best. Since Jimmy had told him of his suspicions he'd been turning the matter over and over in his head. He'd been unable to reach any conclusions; one moment he was convinced that Oliver was using, the next that he really was innocent, the victim of some elaborate setup. Now, however, there seemed to be no doubt. The picture clearly showed Oliver taking a bag of pills from some woman who Clark could not identify. The pills were Zed, he was sure of it, and Clark was overcome with a sudden feeling of immense sadness; Oliver had been through so much, but to be reduced to the status of a junkie, desperate to lay his hands on his next fix within hours of having denied point blank that he was guilty – well, that was just too depressing for words.

"When was this taken?" asked Clark, his voice flat and quiet.

"About ten this morning. Oliver met up with this woman – they talked for a bit, and then she handed over the bag. I'm sorry, Clark – I know this is the last thing you wanted."

"Do you recognise her?"

"No – I've not seen her around before."

"Why did you do this, Jimmy? Why did you follow Oliver?"

"I thought about what you said, Clark. About how protecting Chloe was the most important thing, but that we couldn't do anything until we were sure. I thought that if I followed Oliver I'd find out, one way or another – I just wish it had turned out different."

Jimmy paused, studying the face of the other man. Was Clark buying it? He was trying to sound sincere, to sound as if the shock of discovering Oliver's guilt was as devastating to him as it was for Clark, but he didn't want to overdo it – he'd played it perfectly up to now, but it was important not to become complacent, and to allow his performance to arouse suspicion.

"What will you do now?" he asked, hoping that the trail he had laid would lead Clark to the conclusion he expected; he was not disappointed.

"I must confront Oliver – tell him that we know the truth. He needs help, Jimmy – the sooner he faces up to what he is, the sooner he can find his way back."

"You're right, Clark – I know you are. But...well, can you leave me out of it? I don't want Oliver knowing it was me who tailed him, yeah? It's just... well, you know what Oliver can be like when he gets angry."

Clark stared at Jimmy. Oliver had a temper, that much was certain, and he could see the anxiety in the photographer's eyes; he did not want his role in Oliver's exposure to be known.

"It's okay, Jimmy, I understand. I'll leave your name out of it – this will be between Oliver and me."

"Thanks, Clark – I appreciate it."

Clark turned and made his way towards the door. As he reached it he turned and looked back at Jimmy, grimfaced.

"You did the right thing, Jimmy. This will all be okay – trust me."

He then turned and left.

Jimmy did not move, but let out an audible sigh of relief. Once again he'd pulled off the performance of a lifetime – it was clear that Clark suspected nothing. To him he was just loyal old Jimmy, doing the right thing for his friends. If only he knew – if only he knew the rush he was feeling as piece by piece his plan fell into place. Now he knew what Lex must have felt as he gradually closed the net around Oliver, the exhilaration of success as players are unwittingly manoeuvred around the chess board as the endgame approaches. But he was different to Lex – he was _better_ than Lex. _His_ plan was going to work, and he was going to do what the supposedly great Lex Luthor had failed to do – he was going to rid the world of Oliver Queen once and for all.

"So that was Clark Kent – cute guy."

Jimmy almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice behind him. He spun round, to find the woman who had met up with Oliver earlier in the day standing in the doorway.

"I told you to stay out of sight. If he sees you..."

"Relax, Jimmy – he didn't see a thing. Too preoccupied with that snap you gave him to notice me – by the look on his face, that really shook him up."

Jimmy smiled, his moment of anxiety quickly passing.

"I told you it was one hell of a photo, didn't I? What I would give to be a fly on the wall when he meets up with Oliver."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Where did nervous little Jimmy Olsen go, I wonder – the guy who l picked up out of the gutter all those weeks ago?"

Jimmy did not reply. Grace Jordan was quite a woman, he knew that – perfect, in fact, for the role he had assigned to her. However, she did like to taunt him, to wind him up, and at times it was as if she was running this operation, rather than Jimmy. He'd met her two weeks or so after Oliver had escaped from Schott. He'd been hitting the bottle, and she'd picked him up off the street one night and taken him home. They'd got talking, and he'd opened up to her – told her about Chloe, about his love for her and his hatred of Oliver, the man who stood in his way. She'd listened – listened like no one had ever listened to him before. Something between the two of them had clicked, and they had continued to meet. Gradually he'd found out more about her – about her experiences as an addict, about how she'd done time for holding up a convenience store to get the money she needed to feed her habit, about how she slashed the side of some guy's face when he'd tried to attack her round the back of some bar a few months earlier. It soon became clear to Jimmy that Grace Jordan was no ordinary woman; life had dealt her a rotten hand, but her experiences had left her tougher, more resilient. She wanted a fresh start, a fresh start that only money could provide, so when his plan to destroy Oliver required an accomplice, she was the obvious choice. She hadn't batted an eyelid when he'd first broached the possibility of her playing a part in his scheme, even though it was clear that what he intended would involve murder; the promise of Queen money, and the picture of Oliver that Jimmy had created in her mind during their many nights drinking together, saw to that.

"Have you finished getting everything ready downstairs?" he asked.

"Yeah, everything's ready. Looks like the set from some Saw movie down there."

Again Jimmy smiled. He was looking forward to the climax of his plan, the moment when he could finally reveal the truth...

But that was for the future. For now he turned his thoughts once more to Clark's imminent confrontation with Oliver – how would that turn out, he wondered.

* * *

Chloe glanced at Oliver as the elevator ascended towards the penthouse. They'd just spent a couple of hours with Oliver's lawyers, exploring the best way to contest the charges that he was facing, and they were both tired. The events of the last couple of days were starting to take their toll, but as Chloe looked at Oliver she could not help but think that there was something else going on inside his head. He seemed distant, preoccupied, as if something more was weighing on his mind than just his imminent appearance in a Metropolis courthouse. He'd been like it all day, and try as she might she could not shake the impression that something had happened, something which had wiped away the optimism that he'd shown when he'd returned to the penthouse after being released by the cops the previous day. Maybe the true scale of the trouble he was in was only now beginning to hit home – after all, the picture the lawyers had painted was grim – but still she felt uneasy, as if Oliver's brooding silence was a portent of further storm-clouds ahead.

The arrival of the elevator at the top floor of the building interrupted Chloe's thoughts, and as the grille was pulled back and the two of them stepped into the penthouse she was surprised to find an unexpected figure waiting for them.

"Clark!" she exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile at the sight of her old friend.

"Chloe," replied Clark, the weak smile of recognition which momentarily flashed across his face quickly being replaced by a more sombre expression.

"We've just been to see Oliver's lawyers," said Chloe, aware as she spoke that something was not right; Clark did not look at her, but stared sternly to her left, to where Oliver stood, silent and motionless.

"Clark, what's wrong?" she demanded, the lightness now all but gone from her voice; she could sense the chill in the air, and the presence of an invisible barrier which for some reason had gone up between the two men who now stared at each other across the room.

"Why don't you ask Oliver," stated Clark flatly, not taking his eyes from the young billionaire.

Chloe looked at Oliver, who stood stony-faced by her side.

"Oliver, what's going on? What does he mean?"

Oliver did not respond. He stared at Clark, as if he were trying to get the measure of him, to search out his true intentions; to Chloe's amazement there was no warmth there, only suspicion and distrust.

"Tell her, Oliver – tell her where you were this morning. Tell her about Clancey's."

At the mention of Clancey's Chloe thought she detected a flicker of recognition in Oliver's face. For a split second his veneer of calm slipped, and he appeared surprised, shocked even; then his features fixed once more, this time more in anger than suspicion.

"What is this about? Clark, tell me – what's this about Clancey's?"

"Oliver had a meeting there this morning. Tell her, Oliver – this has gone on long enough."

Oliver paused, clearly choosing his words carefully.

"Why don't you tell her, Clark – you seem to know all about it, so you tell her."

This time it was Clark's turn to pause. It was clear to Chloe that he had wanted Oliver to come clean about something, and his refusal had left him in a dilemma.

"Tell me what? Will someone tell me what is going on here?"

"Oliver's been lying to you, Chloe. The Zed in his jacket? It wasn't planted at all – it's his."

Silence filled the room. The suddenness of Clark's remarkable accusation for a moment left Chloe dumb with shock, and she wondered whether in fact her ears were playing tricks on her. Had she really heard right? Clark was saying Oliver was guilty after all?

"Clark, are you out of your mind? Why on earth would you think that?"

"He's a user, Chloe – he's been lying to us all. Don't believe me? Then take a look at this photo, taken round the back of Clancey's this morning."

Clark said nothing more, but handed Chloe the photo. Chloe stared at it, and for the first time a flicker of fear crossed her mind. Oliver could be clearly seen with a young woman, an all too recognisable packet of Zed in his hand.

"But...I don't understand," she said haltingly, looking across at Oliver for reassurance. He did not react, but continued to stare at his accuser.

"I'm sorry, Chloe – I really am. I didn't want to believe it, any more than I you want to believe what you're seeing in the photo right now. But I'm afraid it's true – the Zed I just found in Oliver's safe confirms it."

Clark dipped into his pocket and pulled out a packet of pills, exactly the same as the ones that had been found in Oliver's jacket the day before. Again Chloe was rendered speechless for a moment, unable to take in what was happening around her.

"Oliver?" she said finally, desperately hoping that he could provide her with some explanation that would make sense of what was happening.

"I gotta tell you Clark, that was some performance you just put on for us there," he replied finally. "So good even I almost believed it. After all, who would suspect you? Straight down the line Clark, the guy who would not tell a lie. Well you're lying now, aren't you, Clark? Lying through your teeth."

Clark appeared surprised by Oliver's words, his eyes betraying the shock he felt.

"Oliver, don't do this. It's over – we can help you get through this," he said, some of the hardness of earlier disappearing from his voice.

"You know you're right, Clark – this is over. Your attempt to break me and Chloe up – its finished, do you hear? I know everything – how you planted the Zed in my jacket, how you tipped off the cops, everything. Finding the Zed in my safe – yeah, well, that's another lie, isn't it? Lie upon lie – did you really think this would work? Did you really think you could break me and Chloe apart?"

"Oliver, what are you saying? What do you mean?"

"Clark is the one who has been setting me up, Chloe. The woman in that photograph? She's the one who told me everything. I didn't believe it at first – I mean, you wouldn't would you? You wouldn't believe your closest friend could betray you like this. But it all makes sense – after all, who else would have had such easy access to my jacket? I guess when you found out about my meeting this morning you had to move quickly, eh, Clark? The photo was a nice touch, but it's not going to work –it's not going to work at all."

"But why – why would Clark do this?"

"He's jealous, Chloe – jealous of what we have together. He can't bear to see you with me – and it's eating him up inside."

"He's lying, Chloe – don't you see? The Zed – it must be the Zed."

"Shut the hell up, Clark!" shouted Oliver, his anger finally boiling over. "Now get out – get out before I do something I might regret."

"Chloe, I'm telling you the truth. You must see that."

Clark looked at Chloe, his eyes pleading for her to accept his word as the truth. She stared at him for a moment, before looking across at Oliver, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation. It was a moment of unbelievable torment, a moment she never dreamt she would ever have to face. And yet here she was, after two of the most shattering minutes in her life, forced to choose between the man she loved and the man who was her closest and dearest friend. It was an impossible situation, but one which she could not escape from – there, at that moment, she had to decide, and in deciding she knew that she would break not just the heart of the man she rejected, but also her own heart. How had it come to this? There had to be some logical explanation, some reason that lay behind this madness, but for now she could not see it. She had to decide, and in her heart she knew there was only one possible decision she could make...

"Chloe?" said Clark quietly, perhaps already sensing what was to come.

"I'm sorry, Clark," she replied, taking Oliver by the arm. "But Oliver wouldn't lie to me – I know he wouldn't."

Clark stared at her for a moment, before walking silently to the elevator.

As the door slid shut Chloe's gut turned over; she felt as though she had just made one of the most terrible mistakes of her life.

* * *

Didn't think I'd be posting this week, but managed to finish the chapter after all. I'm still very busy, so I don't know whether I'll post the next chapter next week or the week after.

Still a bit low about the lack of feedback. If you can leave some, it would make my day - and to all those who have stuck with me, I love you!


	5. Chapter 5: Like a Dream

**Chapter Five: Like a Dream**

Silence filled the penthouse, disturbed only by the fading sound of the elevator descending to the street many floors below. Both Chloe and Oliver stood motionless, staring at the door to the shaft where just moments before Clark had stood, his features a picture of grim resolution. Neither spoke; words, at least for the moment, seemed utterly inadequate. For Chloe, a solitary tear slipping slowly down the side of her cheek, it was a time of almost unbearable agony. The shock of what had just happened had left her numb, almost not believing what she had witnessed; she had heard the words that had fallen from the mouths of the two men she cared about more than anyone else in the world, but they were too incredible to fully comprehend. Had Clark really accused Oliver of being an addict? More bizarrely still, could Oliver be right – was it really Clark who had set him up, who planted the Zed in his jacket? The accusations of both men were so extraordinary they would have been laughable in normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances, and the anger that had simmered between the two young men before finally finding its outlet was all too real. How could this be happening? How in the space of a couple of minutes had she been forced to choose between these two men, two men who had fought alongside each other so often in recent months?

For Oliver there was no despair – only anger. At first he'd not believed the woman when she'd mentioned Clark's name, but as the hours had passed the doubts had started to grow in his mind. As he'd sat listening to his lawyers outlining his options he'd turned the idea of Clark being behind everything over and over again in his head, and the more he thought about it the more his sense of unease had grown. Clark undoubtedly had had the opportunity to plant the Zed, and would have known about his movements on the day of his arrest. But motive – could it really be true? Had Clark's jealousy driven him to this? Oliver knew that he cared about Chloe – cared about her a little more than perhaps he was prepared to admit, even to himself. And he'd always sensed that Clark was uncomfortable with his relationship with Chloe. It was nothing he'd ever been able to put his finger on, but he'd always felt that Clark didn't think he was good enough for Chloe, that he'd eventually discard her like he'd discarded so many other women in the past. It was part of a wider tension between the two men, a tension they rarely spoke of, but both sensed; Clark's disapproval of Oliver's methods as the Green Arrow, Oliver's resentment of the other man's gifts, gifts which he himself so obviously lacked. Latent tensions had existed between them ever since they had met, and Oliver's relationship with Chloe had simply added an extra dimension to their already sometimes difficult relationship. Oliver felt all of this, but he still couldn't quite believe that Clark was capable of trying to frame him. However, Clark's appearance in the penthouse had destroyed any lingering doubts in his mind. The photo and the packet of Zed seemed to confirm Clark's guilt, and as the other man had tried to convince Chloe that Oliver was little more than a junkie Oliver's amazement had turned to anger, an anger such as he had not felt for a very long time. How dare Clark try to break him apart from Chloe! How dare he try to sully a love that he knew he could never have! There could be no forgiveness for this, no turning the clock back – he and Clark were now enemies.

"Why – why would he do this?" said Chloe eventually, her voice trembling with emotion. "It makes no sense – no sense at all."

"Hey, come here," said Oliver, all of the anger that he was feeling disappearing in an instant. He could see that Chloe was hurt, bewildered, and suddenly all that mattered was to offer her the comfort and support she so obviously needed. He gently took her in his arms, pulling her close so that the side of her face rested against his chest; her tears were flowing more freely now, and he soon felt their moisture soaking into his shirt.

"It's okay, Chloe – everything is going to be okay," he continued, his voice soft and soothing.

"Why would he do this to us, Oliver?"

"He's jealous, Chloe, and that jealously has eaten him up inside," he replied, trying to keep his emotions in check; she was sobbing now, and it filled him with a mixture of anger and sadness to see her like this. "But we'll get through this, Chloe – I promise you, we'll get through this."

* * *

_Keep calm, Jimmy – keep calm! You're nearly there now – don't blow it!_

The voice inside Jimmy's head continued to speak its words of reassurance, but it was having only limited success; Jimmy was all too aware of his heart thumping away inside his chest, and the sweat that lay in a film across the skin of his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. His hands were clammy too, and he worried that the outward signs of his nervousness would yet cause his plan to fall at the last hurdle. All he could do as he sat waiting was to reassure himself that the night was a hot one, and that that fact would mask the true cause of his discomfort – that, and the fact that the man he was waiting for hadn't the faintest idea he was walking into a trap.

Jimmy glanced around at the other occupants of the bar. It was nearly empty, save for a couple of solitary drinkers who already seemed well gone; the place had seen better days, and was clearly struggling to stay in business. That was exactly why Jimmy had chosen it – it was the sort of place where people didn't ask questions, and the last place that one would expect to find someone used to rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Perfect, in fact, for what he had planned – if he could just hold his nerve.

He thought back over the events of the last twenty-four hours. He'd heard about Clark's confrontation with Oliver from all three of those present. Each presented a slightly different version of events, but the core of the story did not change – the two men had fallen out with each other in spectacular fashion. Jimmy, of course, had listened sympathetically as each had recounted their story, a model of understanding. He was by now a master of dissembling, and neither Clark, Chloe nor Oliver could have had even an inkling at the sense of elation he felt inside as he realised that things were working out even better than he had hoped. He had sowed the seeds of distrust, and now it was time to make those seeds bear fruit.

The door to the bar opened. Jimmy turned, his heart almost skipping a beat as he saw Oliver. He was dressed in his leather biker jacket and a pair of faded jeans; the helmet clasped in his right hand told Jimmy that, as expected, he'd come on the Ducati. He stood for a moment, scanning the room, until at last he spotted Jimmy in the corner and made his way over to the table.

_This is it, Jimmy – keep it together now!_

"Jimmy! Great place you chose here – really classy," said Oliver, smiling down at the young photographer.

"I thought you'd want to meet up somewhere out of the way," replied Jimmy. As he spoke he searched his voice for any hint of anxiety, any trace of nervousness that might betray him; much to his relief, there was none.

"What can I get you?" asked Oliver, looking down at the two glasses that stood on the table.

"It's okay - I've already got you a beer," said Jimmy, indicating as he did so the full glass that sat in front of the empty chair opposite Jimmy. "I guessed you'd be needing it after all that's happened."

"Jimmy, you have no idea," said Oliver, pulling out the chair and sitting down. As Jimmy watched he placed his helmet on the table and then picked up the glass, gulping down some of the beer.

_That's it, Oliver – drink up now! It'll be the last beer you ever taste, you arrogant piece of shit._

"Man, that's good," said Oliver, at last placing the glass back down on the table. About a third of the beer was gone – more than enough for what Jimmy required...

"Where's Chloe?"

"She's gone to see Lois for the day. She's really cut up about all this, Jimmy – she idolised Clark, and now...well, you know the rest."

"Have you seen Clark?"

"No. He's not shown his face since yesterday – now that the truth's out there, I guess he's gone skulking back to Smallville."

"I can't believe Clark could do all this – it just seems so unreal."

"Jealousy's a powerful emotion, Jimmy. He couldn't bear to see Chloe and me together – couldn't stand the fact that we love each other more than he'll ever understand."

Jimmy winced inwardly at this; to be reminded of the love that Oliver and Chloe shared never failed to wound him.

"Whoaa...that's some beer," said Oliver, swaying slightly as he spoke. Jimmy did not reply, but he felt his body tense; the drug that he'd slipped into Oliver's drink was working faster than he'd expected...

"Jimmy...I don't feel so good," said Oliver after a few seconds. The color was draining from his cheeks, and Jimmy could tell by looking at his eyes that he was having trouble focusing.

"Maybe you need some air," said Jimmy, standing as he spoke. "Here, let me help you."

He moved to Oliver's side, before helping the young hero to his feet. Oliver felt heavy; it was obvious that already he was having difficulty supporting himself. Carefully Jimmy guided him towards the back exit to the bar...

"Where...where...are we going?" asked Oliver, his voice slurred and almost inaudible.

"Just out back – you'll feel better there."

Within seconds Jimmy had guided Oliver out of the bar and into the warm night air. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to see that he was not being observed; confident that they were alone, he let Oliver slip from his hands. Oliver slumped awkwardly to the ground, rolling over onto his side. Jimmy stood for a moment, hardly daring to believe that once again everything had gone exactly as he had planned it. He'd done it! The lure, the drug, everything had gone perfectly! And now, looking down at the unconscious figure who lay before him, he once again felt the exhilaration of success, the rush of knowing that his rival was at last at his mercy...

"Told you that knock-out drug was good."

Jimmy turned, to find Grace standing next to a car just a few feet away. The door to the trunk was open, and the engine was running.

"It went like a dream – he didn't suspect a thing," said Jimmy, his voice almost breathless with excitement. "Now help me get him into the trunk – I want to get him safely locked up before he comes to."

The two of them took Oliver and carried him over to the car, before hauling him up and throwing him into the trunk. Jimmy looked down at his prize, apparently sleeping peacefully; as he did so he could not prevent a twisted smile from forming on his lips.

_Sleep well, Oliver – because when you wake up you're going to discover just how powerful real jealously actually is._

* * *

So as you can see, Jimmy's plan is reaching its climax - but he's far from finished yet! Still some big shocks to come - and watch that Grace character...

Didn't think I'd have time to post this week, but the positive response to the last chapter has given me a real lift. Thanks SO much to those of you who reviewed - it means a MASSIVE amount to me, and without your feedback I wouldn't keep on writing. Please do leave a review if you can - you have the power to make this writer very happy!


	6. Chapter 6: The Truth Revealed

**Chapter Six: The Truth Revealed**

_What the hell is going on?_

It was a question Oliver had asked himself countless times since he had come to a couple of hours earlier. He'd no idea how long he'd been out; the light penetrating the cracks between the boards that sealed up the tiny window up to his left suggested that dawn was breaking, but to which day? The drug that had been used to knock him out had left him disorientated, his body devoid of any sense of the normal rhythm of time passing. Of one thing he was certain, however – he _had_ been drugged. He could remember meeting Jimmy in the bar, sipping from the glass of beer, the sudden feeling of dizziness and nausea, and then – nothing. His drink had been laced with some sort of drug, there could be no doubt about it – but by who? Who was behind all this? And how did it fit in with Clark's attempt to frame him?

Jimmy's face flashed into his mind. Not for the first time, he wondered if the young photographer was in some way caught up in what was happening. Was he helping Clark? Was Clark in fact behind all this? After all that had happened nothing seemed impossible anymore, but this surely was stretching credibility to breaking point. Clark, a kidnapper? Madness – pure madness. Far more plausible was the idea that some unseen hand was behind the events of the last few days, a figure who had succeeded in making them all pawns in his twisted little game. But who? Who was behind all this? So many questions, and his head hurt...it hurt so much...

Not for the first time Oliver pulled impotently at his bonds. He had been tied to a chair, his hands bound behind his back and his ankles taped to its legs. Additional ropes bound his knees together, whilst still more bound his arms to his sides, encircling his chest and securing him tightly to the back of the chair. Whoever his captor was, they knew their business; there was no give in the ropes, and they left him completely immobile. His captivity was rendered complete by a thick rag which had been tied tightly around his head, cutting into the corners of his mouth and gagging him with ruthless efficiency.

Again he pulled at the ropes, twisting his muscles in the hope that he might find some weakness which he could exploit. He was dressed as Oliver Queen, not the Green Arrow; had he been in the costume of his alter ego he knew that he would have been free by now, making use of one of the tiny knives he kept hidden in his gloves to sever his bonds. And he needed to get free – not just for himself, but also for Jimmy. If he was right, and they were all the victims of some elaborate sting orchestrated by an as yet unseen hand, then the chances were that Jimmy too had been taken captive. Oliver was filled with a sense of foreboding as he thought about what might be happening to his young friend. He was valuable - an asset, perhaps to be ransomed. But Jimmy? Jimmy was just a bit part player, an innocent caught up in events he could never hope to control...

Oliver looked about him, hoping to find something that might aid him in his attempt to make his escape. The room had been dark since he had regained consciousness, but now, with the aid of the little light that filtered through the boarded up window, he could at last start to get a sense of his surroundings. The chair to which he had been tied had been placed facing a bare brick wall. A table stood just off to the left, and by twisting his neck as far as he was able Oliver had just been able to make out one edge of the door to the room, which was located exactly behind him. He guessed by the placing of the window that he was in some sort of basement, but beyond that there were precious few clues to go on – and, more importantly, no obvious means of escape.

A sound – distant, but distinct.

Oliver's body tensed, his every sense straining to gain the slightest clue as to what was to come. Was that footsteps? Yes – yes, he could definitely hear footsteps! A slow, deliberate tread, as if someone were descending a wooden staircase...

A key was turning in the lock behind him. Oliver braced himself, knowing all too well that for good or ill, soon he would have the explanation for the events of the last few days that he had been seeking.

The door opened, and for a moment there was silence. Oliver resisted the urge to turn his head, to strain to secure a glimpse of his captor. He would learn who had kidnapped him soon enough, and he didn't want to give whoever now stood in the doorway the satisfaction of showing the fear and uncertainty that was now welling up irresistibly inside him.

Finally there was the sound of footsteps – high heels, echoing crisply from the hard wooden floor. Oliver barely had time to consider the implications of the fact that his captor was a woman when suddenly she appeared at his side, a twisted smirk dancing on her lips. Oliver's eyes gave an instant flash of recognition, as he found himself confronted by the same woman who had told him of Clark's betrayal. A piece of the jigsaw was in place, but there were still so many unanswered questions...

"Well, well, how is my handsome billionaire?" she said mockingly, her eyes moving salaciously up and down his body. "Is your head hurting? I'm sorry about that, but with a guy like you we had to use a high dose – we couldn't afford to take any chances."

Oliver scowled at his tormentor, all too conscious of his own powerlessness. Instinctively he once again tugged at the ropes which bound him, knowing as he did so that it was futile – he was going nowhere.

"Awww, don't be upset! I've been so looking forward to this moment – having you all tied up is so much more exciting than our first meeting, don't you think?"

The more she spoke the more Oliver was aware that this was a very different woman to the nervous junkie he'd encountered behind Clancey's. That woman had been an act, a little piece of theatre to hook him in; the woman who stood before him now, savouring her power over him, was far more controlled, far more dangerous...

"But I'm forgetting my manners. You must have so many questions – and we _so_ want to answer them. Here, let me get that."

She reached out and took hold of the rag that had been stuffed in his mouth, pulling it away roughly.

"What the hell is this? Who are you?" exclaimed Oliver, angry but at the same time relieved that at last the saliva-soaked gag had been removed.

"Me? Oh, I'm just someone helping out a friend," replied the woman, standing back and casting the rag on to the floor.

"A friend? What do you mean? What friend?"

"She means me."

The voice came from behind Oliver. It was a calm voice, measured and controlled. And yet...and yet at the same time there was something else – a sense of menace, of barely restrained anger. Above all, it was a voice that Oliver recognised, and it was this recognition which for a few seconds at least caused time to appear to stand still. It couldn't be – it just couldn't...

"Hello, Oliver."

Oliver turned his head, knowing as he did so who he would find. It was impossible, but there could now be no doubt.

"Jimmy?" said Oliver, his voice little more than a half whisper. "But...I don't understand..."

Jimmy stared at Oliver, seeing the astonishment in his eyes. The young photographer's heart was pounding in his chest so hard he thought he was going to explode, but somehow he was succeeding in maintaining an outward appearance of calm. He'd dreamt of this moment so many times over the previous few months, of how one day he would finally be able to cast aside all the dissembling, all the lies and false smiles. And now that moment had arrived – his adversary, the man who had stolen the woman he loved, finally brought low, trussed up and helpless. He was going to enjoy this moment, because it was _his_ moment – pure and unadulterated. A moment to savour – a moment to remember.

"This is some sort of joke, right? Look Jimmy, you may think..."

"This is no joke, Oliver – no joke at all."

Again there was a moment's silence, Oliver trying to take in the new reality which had fallen upon him like a thunderbolt.

"So you're working with Clark, is that it? Look, I don't know what he's told you Jimmy, but it's lies – every word of it. Jealousy has eaten him up inside, and he's lost it – he's..."

"Clark's got nothing to do with this."

Again Jimmy's words interrupted Oliver. The young hero was becoming more and more uneasy now, the strange stillness in the other man's voice leaving him unsettled, unsure.

"But...I don't understand..."

"_I_ did this, Oliver. Not Clark, not Lex – _me_."

"What? But that's impossible."

"Why is it impossible, Oliver?" replied Jimmy, his voice a little sharper. "Is it because you think I'm too stupid? Or maybe too weak? Well you're wrong. I did this – all of it. I'm the one who planted the Zed on you, I'm the one who gave the cops the tip-off, I'm the one who convinced Clark that you're a user. Who do you think took that photo, Oliver? I did it all – with a little help from Grace here."

The woman smiled, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgement of Jimmy's recognition. She then moved to the table that stood to one side of where Oliver was sitting, before beginning to pour out a glass of water. Had Oliver been thinking straight, he would have been aware that there was something faintly ominous in her behaviour; however, at that moment he was hardly aware even of her existence. His head was spinning from the words which had just fallen from Jimmy's mouth, words which seemed so alien, but also so terrifyingly real.

_Jimmy? Jimmy was behind all this?_ It seemed too bizarre for words, and yet it did all make terrible sense. He had access to his apartment, he enjoyed everyone's trust – Clark would accept his word without a second thought. It all added up, apart from one thing...

"Why? Why would you do this?" asked Oliver, his words little more than a gasp.

"Why do you think I would do this, Oliver? I've done it for the woman I love, the woman you've tried to steal away from me."

_Was he talking about Chloe? Was that what this was all about – Chloe?_

"You just couldn't leave her alone, could you? I didn't want it to come to this, Oliver, but you have left me no choice – I can't let you have her, I just can't."

"Chloe – you love Chloe?" Oliver sounded incredulous, as if the idea was too strange to find a place in his mind.

"That's right, Oliver – I love her, and once you're out of the way, I'm going to make her my own."

"'Make her your own?' This is crazy, Jimmy – just crazy. You really think that Chloe is going to fall in love with you, just because I'm not around? She's a woman, Jimmy – she's not going to fall for some boy with a teenage crush."

Even as Oliver said the words he knew he had gone too far. In an instant the veneer of calm that had helped contain Jimmy's emotions fell away, to be replaced by a raw rage born of months of frustration and simmering hate. Mercilessly he backhanded Oliver around the face, causing the young hero's head to whip to the side from the force of the blow.

"Shut your mouth!" he snarled, his face twisted in anger.

Oliver, a thin trickle of blood running from one side of his mouth, slowly turned his head to once more confront his rival.

"That make you feel better, Jimmy? You can beat the crap out of me all you want, but it's not going to change a thing. She doesn't love you, Jimmy – she never has, and she never will."

"She _will_ love me – she will love me, you hear?" said Jimmy, reaching out and grabbing Oliver by the hair. He yanked his head back, towering over his captive as he struggled to control the torrent of emotions that raged inside him.

"Stop kidding yourself, Jimmy," said Oliver, looking up into the eyes of his captor which flamed with anger. "She loves me – she'll always love me."

"Love? You don't know the meaning of the word!" hissed Jimmy, tightening his grip on Oliver's hair and pulling the young man's head back still further. "What is she to you? Just another notch on the Queen bedpost, another woman you'll tire of, just like you've tired of all those women in the past. Well I'm not going to let you do that to her – I'm not going to let you hurt her!"

"You're wrong, Jimmy. I love Chloe, and she loves me – nothing you can do will ever change that."

"Really? No, you're the one who's wrong, Oliver – so very wrong. When you've gone she'll see the truth about you, that you're no more than a pretty face in a sharp suit. And then she'll come to me, and I'll be there for her, Oliver – I'll be there to help her through it all. And then she'll come to realise what she's known deep down all along – that she belongs with me, that she loves me!"

"You're crazy, Jimmy," gasped Oliver, wincing at the pain of his captor's grip. "You need help – we can help you, if you'll let us."

"I need help? No, Oliver – you're the one who needs help," replied Jimmy, his expression twisting into something more calculating, more malicious.

"Is it ready?" he continued, looking across at his accomplice. She nodded, before handing him the glass.

"See this, Oliver?" he said, holding the glass up so that Oliver could see it. "Looks like a glass of water, doesn't it? But Grace here has just dissolved some Zed into this. And you're going to drink this now, Oliver – you're going to drink this all down. You see the world thinks you're a Zed addict, Clark thinks you're a Zed addict, but Chloe – I think she needs a little more convincing, don't you? That's why when they find your body they're going to find Zed in your bloodstream, Oliver – final proof that Metropolis's most famous billionaire really was a junkie."

The color drained from Oliver's face as the full meaning of Jimmy's words began to sink in. The man was insane, but this was now no longer a joke – it was clear that he was in deadly earnest.

"Jimmy..."

"Not laughing now, are you, Oliver?" said Jimmy, enjoying the fear that he could now detect in the other man's eyes. "Grace, take his head."

Jimmy let go of Oliver's hair. For the briefest of moments he felt a measure of freedom, before the woman's arm reached across and took him by the throat, pulling him back against her body. Sensing what was to come, Oliver began to twist and turn as far as his bonds would allow, but even this limited show of resistance was soon halted when the woman placed her other hand over his forehead, anchoring him securely in place.

"Now don't make this hard on yourself, Oliver," said Jimmy, moving the glass towards Oliver's mouth. The young hero responded by clamping his mouth shut, but even as he did so he sensed that this was a futile gesture, simply putting off the inevitable. He was right; Jimmy leaned forward and took hold of his nose, cutting off the flow of air to his lungs.

"Now open up," he demanded. Oliver did not respond, his eyes wide with unbelieving fear; he still could not quite believe this was happening, that this wasn't all some terrible nightmare from which he would soon awaken. But it was no nightmare, and Jimmy was patient, knowing full well that sooner rather than later Oliver would have to open his mouth, to take a gasp of air...

And at last Oliver could resist no longer. His mouth fell open, gulping in the air that his bursting lungs needed so desperately. It was all the opportunity Jimmy needed; instantly he poured the drugged drink down Oliver's throat, before using his hand to clamp his mouth shut so that Oliver could not spit it out.

"Now swallow, you piece of shit – swallow!"

Again Jimmy held his hand firmly in place, waiting for the inevitable. It did not take long to come, Oliver's swallowing reflex telling him that the job was done – all they had to do now was to wait and let the Zed do its work.

Jimmy took a step back, and Grace released her grip on Oliver's head. Oliver, defeated but unbowed, glared at his former friend, the man who now seemed intent on killing him.

"You bastard!" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the struggles of the previous minute.

"Don't worry, Oliver – it'll be easier second time around," said Jimmy, his voice once again cold and measured. "And after the third dose – well, after that, you'll be past caring."

"You'll never get away with this!" said Oliver, his body already swaying slightly from the effects of the Zed.

"You think so?" replied Jimmy, squatting down so that he could look up into the face of his prisoner. "But who's going to suspect me, Oliver? I'm good ol' dependable Jimmy, the guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, remember?"

"Chloe...Chloe will figure..." Oliver's voice was slurred now, and bordering on the incoherent; the Zed was working fast.

"In a couple of hours Chloe is going to think you are the violent Zed addict Clark has told her you are," said Jimmy. "Now you have a nice trip, Oliver – I'll be back soon, don't you worry."

Jimmy stood up, looking across at Grace as he did so.

"Time for the next phase of our plan – the phase I know you've been looking forward to."

Grace grinned. "What about him?"

Jimmy glanced down at Oliver, whose head now lolled forward onto his chest.

"He's going nowhere – gag him, and then join me upstairs."

Jimmy then turned and made for the steps which led up and out of the basement.

The endgame had begun – now it was time to discredit Oliver in the eyes of Chloe once and for all.

* * *

So at last Oliver knows the truth about Jimmy! Has it taken as long as it took for Lex to find out about Oliver's double life? Maybe - but as you can see the Jimmy story is moving towards its climax, and that means danger for both Chloe and Oliver...

I'm posting on an unusual day, but life has been a bit crazy in the last couple of weeks. I'm so sorry for not replying to some of the reviews - you know how much your feedback means to me, and I will always appreciate your input SO much! I hope you've enjoyed this one. Ollie is where he should be in a good angst/adventure story - in great peril, facing certain death - and Jimmy has finally blossomed as an out and out villain. I know it borders on the melodramatic, but then so does the show sometimes - and I've always wanted to write "you'll never get away with this!" in a story. Stay well - more soon!


	7. Chapter 7: Searching for the Truth

**Chapter Seven: Searching for the Truth**

_SO SORRY – I LOVE YOU_

As Chloe waited on the edge of the sidewalk for the lights to change she once again found herself staring at the message displayed on her phone. The text was short - just five words - but she had been unable to think of anything else since she had first received it three hours earlier. What did Oliver's message mean? Why was he sorry? It had made little sense when she'd first read it, and her anxiety had only grown as she'd had time to think about its meaning, and turn over all the possibilities in her head. There would be no uncertainty, of course, had Oliver been answering her calls, but his failure to pick up, despite countless attempts to get in touch with him, was only adding to her growing sense of concern. Knowing that she would be unable to focus on anything else until her mind was put at ease, she had decided to abandon her plans for the day, and make straight for Oliver's apartment. She needed to know what was going on, and so here she was, just a block from the Queen penthouse, hoping that her worst fears were not about to be realised.

_SO SORRY – I LOVE YOU_

_What did Oliver have to be sorry for?_ Time and again she'd asked herself that question, and always she'd come back to the same answer – an answer that was so awful it tied her stomach in a knot just thinking about it. What could he have to be sorry for? That Clark had been telling the truth all along – and that he was taking Zed after all? She hated herself for thinking it, even for a moment, but it did seem to be the most likely explanation. But she would know, wouldn't she? She'd know if he was an addict? She'd tried to reassure herself with this question, but with only limited success – from what she'd read about Zed, users could hide their addiction all too easily. And there was all the evidence – the arrest, the photo, the Zed in the apartment. And Clark – what about Clark? Was he really so jealous of her relationship with Oliver that he'd stoop to this? Everything pointed to Oliver's guilt, and the journalist in her was crying out for her to accept what seemed blindingly obvious. But the journalist took second place to the woman – and the woman, so deeply in love, had until now not doubted Oliver's word for an instant. But now this text, this short, simple text, had at last shaken that unyielding faith in a way that facts had so far failed to do. Something was wrong, and she needed to know what; she desperately needed to know that the fears that she harboured deep within her were not true...

The movement of people to either side of her momentarily brought her back to reality. She glanced up, to see that the lights had changed. Immediately she moved forwards, almost jogging across the street; the penthouse was so close now, and her need for answers was so strong it seemed almost to propel her forwards. Two minutes of dodging people on the busy sidewalk and at last she was there, standing at the entrance to Oliver's building. Only now did she pause, her stomach churning as she realised that her hunger to find out the truth was at last to be satisfied. What if her fears were true? Could she face what that would mean?

"Chloe!"

She turned, to find Clark standing a few feet away. He appeared worried, his brow furrowed by the events of the last few days.

"Clark, I can't stop...I'm sorry," said Chloe, making to enter the building. The last thing she needed now was a confrontation with Clark; confused and afraid, she needed to get inside, to escape from his gaze.

"Chloe, stop!" Clark's words were insistent, irresistible; in spite of herself, Chloe found herself coming to a halt once more, before turning and facing her old friend.

"Clark, I can't do this right now, okay?" Her eyes pleaded with him to let her go, but as she stared at him she sensed something was wrong, that something new had happened...

"Chloe, it's Jimmy."

"Jimmy?" As she said his name Chloe saw for the first time the figure who stood behind Clark, his back to her, hunched over. Slowly the figure turned, and Chloe found herself face to face with the young photographer. But this was not the Jimmy she was used to seeing; there was no bright smile, no cheerful greeting. Instead she found herself staring into the eyes of a hunted man, a man who had obviously been at the wrong end of a terrible beating. His left eye was badly swollen, and his bottom lip had clearly been cut; a large bruise had also formed on his right temple.

"Oh my God, Jimmy!" gasped Chloe, rushing forward to hug her friend. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"Oliver," said Clark quietly, all too conscious of the impact of what he was saying.

Chloe glanced towards him, for a moment not fully comprehending Clark's meaning.

"Jimmy, what happened? Who did this to you?" she asked again, turning back towards him. As she did so, she understood; she froze, and as Jimmy began to speak her world began to turn upside down...

"I wanted to help Clark – get some evidence that would prove to you he wasn't lying about Oliver," said Jimmy, his voice quiet and unable to hide the pain that his wounds were clearly causing. "I tracked Oliver downtown, and saw him meet up with this woman – the woman in that photo Clark showed you. He handed her some cash – I don't know how much – and she gave him something – I guess it must have been some Zed. And then he saw me. He went mad, Chloe – I've never seen him like that before. He knocked me about a bit – told me that if I told you what I'd seen he'd kill me. I didn't know what to do, Chloe – honestly, I never wanted this, I never wanted any of this."

As Jimmy told his story the color rapidly drained from Chloe's cheeks. It all made sense now – the apology, the failure to answer her calls. Her head started to spin, and she could feel her legs begin to go from under her...

The next thing she knew she was laying in Clark's arms, staring up into his deep brown eyes. Immediately she knew that she'd fainted, and that Clark had caught her, just as he always caught her. How could she ever have doubted him? Hadn't he always been there for her?

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly, a faint smile of reassurance forming on his lips. "We can help him, Chloe – we can help Oliver get through this, I promise."

Chloe said nothing. Instead tears welled up in her eyes, before trickling silently down her cheeks. All the emotions of the last few days, so long bottled up, could be held back no longer; it was time for Chloe Sullivan to weep, weep tears of regret for a love that could never be the same again.

Jimmy watched as Clark hugged Chloe, her small frame looking more fragile than ever as her tears gave way to sobs. It hurt him to see her like this, but he knew in his mind that it was for the best. It was like a form of catharsis, a time when she had to endure pain in order to purge herself of the poisonous effects of _his_ influence. There would be more tears to come, of course – when they found Oliver's body, for example. But she would survive – and she would recover. And as her tears flowed freely he could not help but feel once more the elation of success, of another element of his plan coming together so perfectly. The beating that Grace had given him had hurt more than he'd expected, and he couldn't help but suspect that she'd enjoyed it more than she had let on. But it had been worth it – oh, how it had been worth it! The image of Oliver as the violent user was complete – and what's more she _believed_ it. Her tears told him that – at last her faith in Oliver Queen had been shattered. The text from Oliver's phone had been a nice touch. The simple apology, the declaration of love – so plausible, so devastatingly plausible!

_Yes, we're nearly there now, _he thought to himself. _"Time for the final chapter, I think – time for Oliver to die._

* * *

Grace Jordan felt satisfied. Her mission was going exactly as planned, and as she descended the steep wooden steps down into Jimmy's basement she had to admit that at last she was starting to enjoy herself. Giving Olsen the beating of his life had given her a huge amount of satisfaction; payback, perhaps, for the long hours she had had to endure his self-pitying monologues. She had come to loathe him over the previous months, and it was a source of relief to her that at long last it was all coming to an end. She was sick of listening to his deluded dreams, of indulging his twisted desire for revenge, and she could not wait for the moment when she could say goodbye to the pathetic little world of Jimmy Olsen for good. Still, a job's a job, however unpleasant the mark – and Grace prided herself on her professionalism. She was utterly confident that she had won the photographer's trust, and that not for an instant did he suspect that she was anything other than what she purported to be - a supportive friend, and a willing accomplice. He had no idea that as he played out his own little plan of revenge, he was part of something far bigger, and far more important.

At the foot of the stairs she stopped. Her captive sat exactly as she had left him, motionless and with his back to her. Oliver Queen! This made it all worth it, gave all those endless hours of winning Jimmy's confidence some meaning. She'd read his file, of course – preparations for the mission had been meticulous, as they always were. But to have him here, in the flesh – that was something else entirely! The photos had not done him justice, she was sure of that. He was stunning; the chiselled jaw, the well defined muscles, that flawless complexion, those deep brown eyes – no wonder the women of Metropolis threw themselves at his feet. And now here he was, all tied up and completely at her mercy! She knew she had a job to do, but she could not help but realise that the situation she found herself in was the stuff of fantasy. Sure, she'd fulfil her mission, and she'd get the information – but she could have some fun in the process, couldn't she?

As she walked around in front of him she caught her first glance of his face since she and Jimmy had so brutally forced the Zed down his throat a few hours earlier. He was drenched in sweat, which seemed to pour from every fiber of his being, soaking his clothes and covering his face in a sheen of moisture which glistened in the light of the bare bulb which hung from the ceiling.

"So how was your trip, Oliver? They say the first one is the most intense," she said casually, perching herself on the small table which stood adjacent to the chair.

Oliver, the sodden rag that had been used to gag him still firmly in place, made no response, but simply glared straight ahead of him.

"Bet you could do with a drink, yeah? That's the thing about Zed, of course – the high is unbelievable, but when you start to come down you just need to drink – and drink – and drink," she continued, picking up a water bottle that was standing on the table. "And if you don't drink, well, it just starts to burn you up inside. What's that like, Oliver? What's it like to feel as though your insides are on fire?"

Oliver glanced across at his captor, and for the first time their eyes met. Grace could see the defiance in the young man's eyes, but also his need, his need for the bottle of water that she continued to play with in her hands. It was true what they said about Zed – a drink of water could hide a user's habit, but without it the addict experienced a torment as terrible as any physical torture.

"So, would you like a drink?" she said, holding the bottle out towards him. He glanced down at it, and for an instant his need to slake his thirst overcame his desire to show no weakness. But then the moment was gone, and once again he met her gaze, fury blazing in his eyes.

"Aww, trying to be the hero, Oliver? Trying to pretend you don't need this? We both know different – we both know you need this as much as your friend Aquaman."

Almost imperceptibly Oliver's eyes widened at the mention of his friend's name; it was the smallest of reactions, but Jordan saw it. As she slowly unscrewed the bottle and deliberately took a long swig of water she wondered what was going through the young hero's mind. Until now he'd thought he was trapped in the fantasy of a jealous lover, but the mention of one of his freakish friends, well, that would cause all sorts of questions to bounce around that handsome head of his...

"Have you ever seen AC when he's drying out? I have – quite a sight, I can tell you. There's something about seeing a grown man beg...will you beg, Oliver? Will the Green Arrow beg for a little drink of water?"

This time Oliver hid his surprise less effectively. She could see the fear in his eyes now, the uncertainty that her words had produced in his mind. What was he thinking, she wondered. Did he think Jimmy had taken her into his confidence, and told her everything about the hidden world of the Justice League? Or was he starting to suspect the truth, that there was something else going on here, something far more dangerous...

"Yes, Oliver, I know who you really are. I have to say, I would have preferred to have been having this little conversation with you all suited up in that leather costume of yours – that is quite some outfit you've got there, I can tell you! How you must be feeling now – the man who has single-handedly brought down organised crime in Metropolis, brought low by the jealousy of a second-rate photographer! But we both know there's more going on here than the unrequited love of Jimmy Olsen, don't we?"

There was silence for a few seconds, the two of them staring intently at each other, weighing each other up. At last Jordan reached forward, and pulled the rag from Oliver's mouth.

"Who are you? What is this?" gasped Oliver, his voice cracked and parched.

"Shhh, just drink," commanded Jordan, carefully holding the bottle to Oliver's lips. He drank greedily, gulping down the water as though his life depended on it.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" said Jordan, as finally she withdrew the empty bottle from the young man's lips.

"I asked you a question," replied Oliver. "Who the hell are you?"

"Now, now, Oliver, that's not how this works," said Jordan, placing the bottle on the table before pulling a small box from her bag. "I ask the questions – or rather, I ask one particular question, which the people I work for are most anxious to hear the answer to."

"What do you mean? Who do you work for?" asked Oliver, his voice betraying his anxiety as he watched Jordan pull a tiny syringe from the box.

"I told you Oliver – I ask the questions," she said, turning and making her way towards him. She moved in close, straddling him so that her face was just inches from his; mesmerised, Oliver was aware of the syringe hovering close to his neck.

"What is that? What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry, Oliver – it's perfectly harmless. Just a little truth serum – help to loosen that tongue of yours."

"Truth serum – why? What do you want to know?"

"Shhhh – don't be afraid," she said, placing two fingers over his lips. "It'll all be over very quickly – and when you wake up, you won't remember a thing."

She then plunged the syringe into Oliver's neck, emptying its contents into the helpless hero's bloodstream in a couple of seconds. She then stepped back, to wait for the drug to do its work. She didn't have to wait long; within ten seconds Oliver was struggling to keep his head straight, the effects of the powerful drug plainly taking effect.

Carefully she lifted Oliver by the chin, leaning in so that she could stare into his eyes, which already appeared glazed and unable to focus.

"Can you hear me, Oliver? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I...I ... can... hear you," replied Oliver, his voice slurred, but still audible.

"That's good – that's very good. Now tell me, Mr Queen – where are you keeping Lex Luthor? What have you done with Lex Luthor?"

"Luthor?" said Oliver, his voice very quiet now; it was clear he was fast slipping into unconsciousness.

"Lex Luthor," repeated Jordan, gently slapping Oliver a couple of times to keep him awake."Where is Lex Luthor?"

"Bateman...Bateman Facility, North Dakota."

Her question answered, Jordan immediately allowed Oliver's head to fall to his chest. As the stricken hero lost consciousness she was already making a call on her cell phone; she knew that her employers would be very pleased with the outcome of her mission.

"It's Jordan," she began, her tone businesslike and efficient. "I've got a location for you. You'll find what you're looking for at the Bateman Facility, North Dakota."

* * *

Hi guys! Sorry its been a couple of weeks since I last updated, but I've been away on vacation. I hope you enjoyed this one - as you can see, a few unexpected twists! Jimmy reaches a new low, Chloe's heart is broken, and as for Grace - well, I told you she wasn't all that she seemed! More twists - and shocks - to come, I promise!

Great news coming out of ComicCon for Chlollie fans. I'm so happy Oliver is going to be in 18 episodes next season, and that he's going to have a good arc - I'm especially happy that he's not going to be abandoning his GA persona this season. Congrats to Justin for getting the opportunity to direct an episode - I just know he'll do an amazing job.

Next update in a week or so. In the meantime, please do leave a review if you can - you have the power to make this writer very, very happy!


	8. Chapter 8: A Chance Sighting

**Chapter Eight: A Chance Sighting**

"Why are you down here? Has he been causing trouble?"

Jimmy was mildly surprised to find Jordan leaning against the far wall of the basement, just a couple of feet from where his captive continued to sit, bound and gagged. Nothing from her manner indicated there was any cause for alarm, the smoke from her cigarette which gently moved through the still, sultry air seeming to confirm that all was as it should be. Still, it was strange that she had chosen to spend time down in the oppressive, sticky atmosphere of the basement, rather than in the air-conditioned apartment above, and it was enough to prompt his questions.

"No, Oliver's been a good little boy, haven't you, Ollie?" replied Jordan, her eyes moving from Jimmy to the man she had been told to watch over. Not for the first time, Oliver met her playful gaze with a stare of mute fury, the sodden rag which she had carefully retied preventing him from offering any more by way of defiance. He'd come round from the truth serum about an hour earlier, and she'd wanted to reassure herself that he remembered nothing; a short conversation had confirmed that the drug had lived up to its promise, and that Oliver had no recollection of what had happened a couple of hours earlier. He had no idea what she had done, or the secret he had divulged – it was as if nothing had ever happened.

Jimmy walked around Oliver so that once more he stood face to face with his rival, and saw the surprise on his captive's face at the sight of his scars.

"Oh, don't get your hopes up, Oliver," he said, reading the mind of his prisoner. "Clark hasn't figured out the truth, if that's what you're thinking. In fact, it's more the opposite – terrible what Zed can make a man like you do, isn't it?"

Jimmy grinned as he saw the look of incomprehension on Oliver's face. He'd enjoyed his last confrontation with Oliver, and hoped that this one would prove similarly entertaining.

"He doesn't get it, Grace," he continued, not taking his eyes from Oliver. "Shall I explain it for you, Oliver? You see Grace here gave me these bruises, but that's not what Clark and Chloe think - no, that's not what they think at all. They think that _you_ gave me these scars, Oliver – high on Zed, you just couldn't stop yourself."

Oliver cursed into his gag, his words muffled by the thick material.

"What's that, Oliver? Do you want to say something? Here, let me help."

Jimmy reached forward and pulled the cloth from Oliver's mouth.

"Chloe would never believe a story like that – never!" he said breathlessly, barely containing the anger he felt inside.

"Really? But you've as much as confessed, Oliver – that text you sent just broke her heart."

Jimmy pulled Oliver's cell from his pocket and waved it in front of the other man's face.

"I'm going to kill you for this, do you hear me, Jimmy? I'm going to kill you, you worthless piece of shit!" Realising that once again the photographer had outsmarted him, Oliver strained impotently at his bonds as he shouted at his captor, only to be met be the smile of a man who knew he was in complete control.

"It hurts, doesn't it? It hurts to know you've been outsmarted by me – Jimmy Olsen, of all people. But don't worry, Oliver – it will soon all be over, I promise you."

Oliver's outburst faded as quickly as it had appeared. He sensed that events were now moving fast, and that he didn't have much time – he needed to stay calm, to create an opportunity to get himself out of this mess...

"Listen – Jimmy – this isn't you, okay? You don't want to do this – it will eat you up inside, you'll regret it for..."

"The rest of my life? You might be right – you might well be right. But at least I won't have to see you and Chloe together – at least I'll have a chance to show her what true happiness is."

"With you, you mean? Jimmy, you must know it will never work – she'll never love you, you know that."

"She will love me!" For the first time Jimmy's mask of control slipped, and Oliver caught a glimpse of the intensity of the jealousy that had led the photographer to this act of desperation. He wondered how he had not noticed it before; all those months he and Chloe had been together, and all the time a fire of burning passion had been raging within the man he had once considered a friend, slowly devouring the old Jimmy until only a twisted shadow of his former self remained.

"She just needs the space to see me for who I really am – to appreciate what I can give her, what true love really means," he continued, his voice strained.

"See you for who you really are? What about all this, Jimmy? What if Chloe could see all this?"

"You've left me no choice, Oliver – only when you're gone will she finally be able to see things clearly, understand what's truly best for her. I've seen what you've done to her – how you've blinded her with that fake smile and that fat bank account of yours. And it will hurt when you're gone – she'll hurt, I know that. But she'll get over it, and when she does – well, then she'll finally understand the meaning of real love."

Oliver did not know how to respond. It was clear that Jimmy wasn't just deluded – he was half way along the road to madness. The whole situation seemed too bizarre for words, but he was well aware that what he faced was all too real, and that the man in front of him was in deadly earnest.

"Jimmy, listen to me..."

"I'm done listening," interrupted Jimmy, his features hardening. "Do you think I don't know what you're trying to do, Oliver? Keep me talking, hope to find a way out, is that it? Well I'm not Lex – I'm not going to fall for that silver tongue of yours. Grace, take his head."

Before Oliver had time to react Jordan had once again taken up her position behind Oliver, grabbing him by the neck and forehead and anchoring him firmly against her body. Oliver, sensing what was to come, once again clamped his mouth tightly shut in readiness for the imminent onslaught. He did not have to wait long; within seconds Jimmy was standing before him, the lethal cocktail of Zed poised in his right hand.

"I don't know why you're wasting your time, Oliver," he said, observing his prospective victim with cold detachment. "You know that you are going to drink this sooner or later, so why don't you save us all some time and cooperate, yeah? This isn't going to kill you, I promise. It will be the third dose that will be the fatal one, and it won't hurt – you have my word."

Seeing that Oliver was still not going to comply, Jimmy undertook the same grim set of actions as he had used when administering the first dose. The grabbing of Oliver's nose, the young hero finally gasping for breath, the forcing of the lethal cocktail down his throat – there was a sort of terrible inevitability to it all. One thing was new, however; the relish with which Jimmy set about his task. Both Oliver and Grace could see it in his eyes as he poured the drug down the helpless hero's throat, a confidence – an enjoyment, even – of his murderous work. At that moment any hope that Oliver might have continued to harbour that somehow he could talk his way out of this nightmare, appeal to the old Jimmy who he once thought of as a friend, disappeared. The glee that Oliver saw in the photographer's eyes as he poured the Zed into his mouth left him in no doubt – the old Jimmy was dead.

"There - that wasn't so bad, now was it?" said Jimmy at last, stepping back and observing his prey. Oliver sat hunched over, his shoulders heaving as he tried to recover from the unequal struggle that his captor had just won.

"You bastard," he whispered, slowly raising his head to look Jimmy squarely in the eye. "You sick, twisted, bastard."

There was once a time when Jimmy would have flinched at this, when his conscience would have been pricked by Oliver's words and his unflinching stare. Not anymore; now Jimmy returned his former friend's gaze with a stare of icy contempt.

"Gag him, and then join me upstairs," he said to Grace, not taking his eyes from his captive. "Enjoy the ride, Oliver. They saw nothing beats the intensity of your first hit, but hey – you might as well enjoy it while you can. After all, in twenty-four hours you'll be dead."

* * *

Seven hours had passed since Clark and Jimmy had delivered their bombshell, but still Chloe felt as if she had been hit by a ten ton truck. In the space of a few days her perfect world had come crashing down around her ears, the evidence that the man she loved more than anything else in the world was a liar and a user now so overwhelming it could not be ignored. And yet... and yet she _did_ still want to ignore it, she did still want to cling on to that last flicker of hope that somehow there was an explanation to all this that did not involve the shattering of all her dreams.

She'd been through so many emotions over the previous few hours, it was a wonder that she still had the energy to drive herself on. First there had been the tears; they had flowed freely, and no amount of comforting from Clark could staunch their flow. Then there had been the questions, the anger. Why had he done this? Why had he not come to her, confided in her? She would have supported him – she would have supported him through anything. But this – could her love really survive this? Jimmy's battered face continued to flash into her mind, a vivid reminder of how far the Oliver of today was from the man she had fallen in love with all those months before. Could they ever get over this? Could things ever be the same again? She feared not, and yet...

Still she was not sure. Once the anger had subsided, once the tears had finally ceased to flow, so her doubts had once more reasserted themselves. Sure, the evidence was overwhelming, the testimony of Clark and Jimmy damning, but still she couldn't quite bring herself to give up all hope. Her love for Oliver was so strong, she could not believe that it was as it appeared; for every time Jimmy's battered face appeared in her mind's eye, so Oliver also appeared, smiling that dazzling smile and telling her it wasn't true. She remembered all the times they'd spent together, all the countless little tenderness's that he had shown her. She knew his soul, she knew him better than she knew herself; she knew that beneath that smooth exterior there existed a man of exquisite gentleness and grace. Her heart was telling her that the Oliver she knew was incapable of doing what her head told her he was guilty of, what the evidence seemed to point to without any shadow of a doubt. There _had_ to be another explanation, there just had to be - and she would not give up hope until that last fragment of uncertainty had finally been laid to rest.

And so here she was, dodging the passers-by on the sidewalk as she made her way towards Jimmy's apartment. She was on her own; Jimmy had left soon after he had told his story, and Clark had followed a couple of hours later. He hadn't wanted to leave her, but Chloe had reassured him that she would be okay, but that she needed some time alone, some time to think. She'd sat for hours, waiting for Oliver to call, or better still for him to return to the penthouse. Slowly, as it became more and more clear that he was not going to make contact, her mind turned to what Jimmy had told her. What he'd said had been so shocking she'd not questioned him at the time, but now, hours later, more and more questions were taking shape in her mind. She needed to know more about what had happened, to try to understand what was going on in Oliver's head as he attacked Jimmy so inexplicably. Perhaps he'd said something that would give her a clue as to what was really going on, some words, on the surface unimportant, that might give her further cause to hope that somewhere in all this there was a reasonable explanation just waiting to be discovered.

She turned into Jimmy's street, relieved that soon she would have some of the answers that she was looking for. Jimmy's apartment building was on the opposite side of the road, and in her eagerness to reach it she almost stepped out in front of a passing cab; inwardly taking herself to task for her own stupidity, she took up a position on the edge of the sidewalk at the official crossing. As she stood waiting for the lights to change she glanced across at Jimmy's building, and it was at that moment that her heart almost skipped a beat. There, emerging from the entrance, was a woman. Chloe recognised her instantly; it was the woman in the photograph that Clark had shown her, the woman who had given Oliver the Zed.

Chloe gasped audibly. She had felt that something was wrong, that there had to be more to what was going on, but never in a million years had she expected this. What did it mean? Who was she, and why was she at Jimmy's, of all places? Countless new questions immediately sprang into her head, vying with those that were already troubling her for attention. As Chloe watched the woman turned and made her way up the street, away from where Chloe was standing. At that moment the lights changed. Chloe hesitated, but only for a moment; she began to cross the street.

Suddenly her visit to Jimmy's had taken on a new significance.

Whatever was going on, she instinctively knew that the answers she was looking for lay behind the door to that apartment.

* * *

Chloe gets a break - yay! But you just know its not going to be that simple, don't you? Lots of drama and action in the next couple of chapters, and some real shocks in store, I promise!

Thanks to all those of you who are still reading, and above all those of you who continue to take the time to review. You are amazing, and give me the inspiration to keep on writing. Please do post a review if you can - a minute of effort, and you make this author very happy indeed!


	9. Chapter 9 Discoveries

**Chapter Nine: Discoveries**

Chloe's pulse quickened as she stood in front of Jimmy's door, clutching the key in her right hand. She tried to calm herself, but it was to no avail; the fact that he had not answered when she had pressed his buzzer a few seconds earlier had done little to reassure her. Jimmy's apartment was one of eight in the building, but she knew the code to gain access to the hallway, and had let herself in when he had not answered. She also had a key to the apartment itself, Jimmy trusting her with a copy so that she could come and go as she pleased when she was in this part of town. Never for a moment when he had given her the key could either of them have imagined the situation that Chloe now found herself in, poised to enter and find – what, exactly? She had absolutely no idea. The appearance of the woman had produced a flood of questions in her mind, but no answers. The more she thought about it, the more inexplicable it seemed. What possible connection could the woman have to Jimmy? Were the two of them working with Clark, part of some elaborate conspiracy to destroy Oliver? The idea seemed too fantastic for words, to the extent that Chloe found it equally plausible that the whole thing was a giant coincidence, and that the woman and Jimmy shared the same building purely by chance. Whatever the case, something told her that she would soon have some answers...

To her own surprise, she found her hand trembling slightly as she placed the key into the lock. There had been no answer when she had buzzed, so clearly the apartment was empty – why, then, did she feel anxious? Reason told her that her fears were unfounded, and yet something within her – call it instinct, if you will – meant that she could not shake off her sense that in some way danger lay ahead...

"Jimmy...Jimmy, are you here?" she shouted as she entered the apartment, carefully closing the door behind her. She tried to sound confident, as though her visit was the most natural thing in the world; if Jimmy was mixed up in what was going on, she did not want to give him any reason to suspect that she knew something.

Silence greeted her call. She stood for a moment, her ears listening for the slightest movement. There was none; all that could be heard was the sound of a ticking clock, and the dull roar of the traffic passing by on the road outside.

She relaxed. She was alone, or so she thought...

Just feet below her, tied up in the basement, Oliver heard her call out Jimmy's name. A few hours had passed since his kidnappers had forced the second dose of Zed down his throat, and slowly he was coming round. However, his mind was clouded, fuzzy, and his grip on reality slight. He only half-heard the voice which cried out above him, and that part of his brain which registered the sound did not really believe it. Chloe? Here? It wasn't possible – no, not possible at all. It was the Zed, still messing with his mind, still playing cruel tricks on him. Either that, or his raging thirst causing him to lose his grip on reality. His throat burned like fire, his torment made worse by the bottle of water that had deliberately been left standing on the table just in front of him. How he needed that water – he needed it _so_ much! But it was out of reach – left there by Jordan, no doubt, to taunt him, make him suffer just that little bit more.

His eyes remained fixed on the bottle, as if simply by the force of his will he could move it to within his grasp. He dismissed the voice he had heard as a product of his fevered imagination, and did not even notice the sound of the floorboards creaking above him...

Chloe moved carefully towards the main living area of Jimmy's apartment, tentatively pushing open the door. She believed she was alone, but her heart was still beating abnormally in her chest, a sign that her nerves had not fully left her. The room was empty, the sight of Jimmy's possessions scattered carelessly across the furniture a comforting sign of normality. She retraced her steps, turning towards Jimmy's bedroom, which lay just opposite. She wanted to investigate, to search for clues that would unravel the mystery that had engulfed her, but before she did so she needed the reassurance that she was indeed alone. Gingerly she knocked at the door, wondering if she would get a response.

"Jimmy...Jimmy, are you in there?"

_Chloe!_

It seemed incredible, but this time there could be no mistaking the voice that was sounding somewhere above him. Chloe was here – in Jimmy's apartment! Oliver could not quite believe it, and for a split second he sat absolutely still, rooted to the spot as he listened intently for further signs of the miracle that he hardly thought possible. Every one of his senses was suddenly alert, straining for the slightest clue as to what was going on up above; the rush of adrenalin that the prospect of rescue produced banished the lingering effects of the Zed, at least for the moment. Could it really be Chloe? And if it was, was she alone? His pulse suddenly quickened as he thought of the danger she might be in, walking into what she thought was the house of a friend, only to discover he was a madman. But the voice had called out Jimmy's name, so surely that meant he wasn't in the apartment – didn't it?

A floorboard squeaked above him. It acted like a trigger, freeing him from the momentary paralysis that had struck him dumb. He needed to attract her attention, to make her realise that he was here, just a few feet away...

Filling his lungs as best he could, he shouted at the top of his voice. A muffled yell filled the stillness of the basement, the thick cloth gag that had been so callously stuffed into his mouth neutralising his vain attempt to signal his presence. Again he shouted, louder this time; once more it was to no avail, the gag seeming to mock his pathetic attempt to escape.

He listened. He could hear footsteps moving about above him, but they were slow, untroubled; there was no sign that his cries had penetrated beyond the thick door that lay between the basement and the apartment above. His pulse quickened, and sweat started to trickle down his forehead; there was no telling when Jimmy or Jordan would return to the apartment, and he knew that he didn't have a moment to lose. He had to make her hear, but his muffled cries were not going to be enough...

Suddenly, instinctively, he knew what he had to do. Using all the strength he could muster, he started to rock back and forth on the chair. Quickly he gained momentum, rocking at an ever more perilous angle, until finally the point of no return had been reached. He toppled forwards, but as he did so he tried to propel himself sideways, into the table that stood nearby. His efforts paid off; as he fell he caught the table a glancing blow, sufficient to send the bottle of water and a glass tumbling to the ground with him. As he hit the floor with a bone shuddering thud he clasped his eyes tightly shut, not wishing to be blinded by the shattering glass. He felt some of the shards pepper his face, but he didn't care; what mattered was he had made a noise, and hopefully a noise that could not be ignored. All that he could do now was hope that it had been enough. He lay awkwardly on his side, still tied to the chair, and held his breath, hoping...

Chloe was retracing her steps towards the main room of Jimmy's apartment when she heard the sound. She froze, not sure of exactly what she had heard. Was that glass breaking? Something heavy toppling over? She couldn't be certain, so stood absolutely still, her ears straining for any further clues as to the origin of the noise that had halted her in her tracks. For a moment there was nothing, save for the familiar roar of the traffic outside, until suddenly she could hear something new. What was that? A human voice? She thought it was, but it was muffled, indistinct, as if someone were speaking through many layers of thick cloth.

Chloe remained absolutely still, listening to the strange sound. It didn't go away, but instead got a little louder and more urgent. The change in tone was enough to convince her that she was indeed listening to the sound of a human voice, the owner of which was clearly in distress. Her first thought was that it must be Jimmy, that somehow he had fallen victim to the woman who she had watched leaving the building a few minutes earlier. But where was he? She listened again, this time trying to work out the direction the sound was coming from. For a moment she was unable to place it, as it seemed to be surrounding her where she stood. Then she understood; the sound was coming from beneath her feet, from Jimmy's basement...

Chloe knew Jimmy's apartment well. Within seconds she was at the door which led down into the basement, her heart now pumping furiously in her chest. She tried the door, but it was locked. Quickly she looked around her for the key, and as she did so another moan floated up from the basement, the loudest yet.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, is that you?" she shouted, her eyes still searching for the key. At last she saw it, half hidden beneath a pile of papers on a side table. She grabbed it, and, her hands half trembling, she inserted it into the lock. It turned easily, and a moment later she found herself standing at the top of the stairs that led down into the basement.

She could see very little, the only light coming from the doorway in which she stood. There was silence, but then suddenly a muffled cry for help from somewhere below her almost caused her to jump out of her skin.

"Jimmy? It's okay – I'm coming!"

She reached out to her left, flicking the switch which turned on the basement light. It improved things, but not by much; the basement was large, and the single bulb struggled to illuminate its every corner. Despite this Chloe quickly located what she was looking for, as slightly off to the right she saw a figure lying on the floor. She could not see his face, as his back was facing towards the stairs, but what she could see were the ropes which held him securely to a chair.

"Jimmy!" she gasped, starting her descent of the steps. The sight of the tied up figure seeming to confirm her suspicions, she did not for a moment consider it could be anyone apart from Jimmy. It was with genuine shock, therefore, that when she rounded the prostrate figure who lay helpless on the ground she found herself staring not into the eyes of her young friend, but instead the eyes of Oliver Queen.

"Oliver!" she whispered, hardly believing what she was seeing. For a moment she did not move, her mind struggling to catch up with what her eyes were telling her. However, it did not take long for her instincts to kick in; quickly she reached out towards her lover, pulling the thick rag from his bruised mouth.

"Chloe...!"

"Oliver, what happened? What..."

Their voices overlapped, the sound of the other bringing each to a premature halt. For Chloe, her amazement was mixed with relief. Even without hearing an explanation, she knew that Oliver's plight confirmed what her instincts had been telling her all along; that he was the victim of some elaborate set-up, and innocent of all the charges that had been laid at his door. For Oliver, too, there was relief, but also anxiety. He was all too aware of how much danger they were in, and how Jimmy might return at any minute.

"Water...I need water," he gasped, the release of discovery reigniting his overwhelming need to slake his thirst.

Chloe looked around, quickly spotting the plastic bottle which lay on the floor nearby. Fumbling with the top, she eventually managed to place it to Oliver's lips, gently tipping it back so that it poured down Oliver's throat. The young man drank greedily, like a desert traveller arriving at an oasis; as she watched him drink Chloe wondered how long he had been here, and what his abductors had done to him.

"Oliver, what happened? Who did this to you?" she asked finally, as the last drops of water were drained from the bottle.

"There's no time – we've got to get out of here," replied Oliver, his voice still cracked. "Untie me – they could be back any minute now."

Chloe wanted to know more, but the look in Oliver's eyes told her that now was not the time. Without saying any more she set about untying his hands and feet. It took her what felt like an eternity to disentangle the knots, but eventually he was free, and using Chloe to steady himself, Oliver carefully got to his feet, swaying a little as he did so.

"Oliver, are you okay?" she asked, sensing that something was wrong; his face was drained of color, and he seemed unsteady as he stood unaided beside her.

"I'll be fine," he replied, turning to look at her. He smiled; it was a weak smile, but still it was enough. He was going to be okay – they were both going to be okay.

"Now let's get out of here, yeah?"

She smiled back at him, grateful that the Oliver she knew and loved was still with her.

Taking her by the hand, he began to move towards the steps that led out of the basement. Chloe followed, but then stopped, her face clouding over once more.

"But Jimmy – what about Jimmy? Where is he?" she said anxiously, glancing around the basement as if it might contain some clue as to the whereabouts of her friend.

Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, before turning slowly to face her. He'd wanted to postpone this moment, uncertain of how Chloe would take the news of Jimmy's betrayal, but it was clear now that that was not going to be possible.

"Chloe, I don't know how to tell you this, but..."

"That's enough!"

The sound of Jimmy's voice echoed through the basement. Chloe and Oliver looked up, to find Jimmy standing at the top of the stairs. Although Chloe did not see it at first, Oliver was immediately aware of the pistol clasped firmly in his right hand.

"Jimmy, I was so worried about you!" said Chloe. She sounded relieved, not yet fully understanding what was going on. She stepped forward, and it was then that she saw it – the gun in his hand, pointed directly at them.

"Jimmy, what is this? What are you doing?" she asked incredulously, staring up into the face of the young photographer. He somehow looked different to her, his features fixed and almost glazed over.

"Don't move!" he ordered, his voice obviously strained. As he began to make his way down the steps towards them Oliver silently moved forward, positioning himself between the gun and Chloe.

"I don't understand. Oliver, what...?"

"Jimmy did this, Chloe," said Oliver, his voice deliberately calm and quiet; he did not want to spook the man whose carefully laid plans had just been reduced to nothing. "The planting of the Zed, the set-up with the woman, the photograph – it was all Jimmy. He's been preparing this for months, haven't you Jimmy? Everything planned down to the last detail."

Chloe was stunned. The idea of Clark being behind everything had been difficult to take in, but this – this just seemed impossible.

"Jimmy?" she said, staring at the man who had been her friend and partner for so long. "Jimmy, tell me..."

"I'm sorry, Chloe," he replied, cutting her off before she could complete her sentence. He now stood at the foot of the stairs, just a few feet from where Oliver was standing. The gun could be seen clearly now, shaking in Jimmy's hand. The photographer was sweating profusely, the stress of the situation leaving him in a highly agitated and volatile state.

"Jimmy, it's over," said Oliver authoritatively. He still felt a little unsteady on his feet, but was strong enough to at least give an appearance of being in control, even though he was the man looking down the barrel of a gun. He did not take his eyes from Jimmy, but all the time was conscious of Chloe standing behind him; his instinct to protect her was overwhelming, and he had no intention of allowing her to come within the line of fire.

"Shut up, smart mouth!" hissed Jimmy. Chloe recoiled; the venom in his voice shocked her, as did the flash of rage she saw in his eyes.

"Jimmy, you don't want to do this," continued Oliver, forcing himself to stay calm. "It's over now – you know that. We can help you – we _will_ help you. Just give me the gun, before anyone gets hurt."

Oliver took a step towards Jimmy, never taking his eyes from him.

"Stay where you are, or I'll shoot!" said Jimmy, his voice strained and desperate.

"No you won't," replied Oliver, taking another step towards him. "You're not a killer, Jimmy. Now give me the gun."

He held out his hand towards Jimmy. For a moment it seemed as if Jimmy wavered; almost imperceptibly, his grip on the handle of the weapon eased. But then the moment was gone; his grip tightened, and the gun was raised higher so that it pointed directly at Oliver's head.

"I'm sorry, Chloe, but I have to do this..."

"Jimmy, no!"

As Chloe screamed Oliver made a sudden grab for the gun. Jimmy was momentarily caught off guard, but Oliver's assault was not enough to wrest the gun from his hand. The two men then began to grapple with each over, their faces contorted in rage as they stumbled around the basement. In ordinary circumstances it would have been an unequal struggle, Oliver's training and physical strength more than a match for Jimmy. But these were not normal circumstances, and the young hero found himself struggling as the lingering effects of the Zed sapped his ability to fight.

"Stop it! Please, stop!" pleaded Chloe as the two men lurched around the room, locked together in a deadly embrace. Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched them struggle to gain the upper hand, Jimmy trying to press the barrel of the gun against Oliver's body and Oliver using all the power he had left to prevent him from doing so. It was a nightmarish scene, and one which instinctively she knew was heading towards an inevitable outcome...

And then it happened.

The sound of a single gunshot, echoing around the walls of the basement.

* * *

Cliffhangers - gotta love them! I promised you a dramatic chapter - hope you enjoyed it. Who has been shot? You'll have to wait to find out, but I'll tell you this - someone HAS been shot.

Please review if you can. They mean a lot to me - you have the power to make it all seem worthwhile!


	10. Chapter 10: Selflessness v Selfishness

**Chapter Ten: Selflessness versus Selfishness**

The gunshot echoed around the walls of the basement, an ominous, deafening sound, full of foreboding. The two men froze, their bodies still locked together; each searched the eyes of the other, wondering if the bullet had brought their desperate struggle to a possibly fatal resolution. Neither flinched, the strength with which they continued to hold each other a sign that the shot had gone wide of the mark. Both felt a moment of relief, but also fear; somehow the gun firing made clear what both of them knew, that this fight might have lethal consequences for one or both of them.

The shock of the gunshot over, both men resumed their struggle with an even greater intensity. Oliver, his body tired after the abuse he had been subjected to, was starting to falter, and he was finding it more and more difficult to remain on terms with his opponent. Jimmy sensed his weakness; his eyes flaming with fury, he summoned up all his reserves of strength and drove Oliver hard into the wall. The impact was crippling, Oliver wincing in agony as his shattered body tried to absorb the blow. He was losing, and both men knew it; it was only a matter of time now...

"Oliver...!"

Chloe's voice, small and weak, floated across the basement. There was something about it, something terribly fragile, that stopped both men in their tracks. Both turned in its direction, and for a split second each man did not comprehend what they were seeing. Chloe was lying crumpled on the floor, like a rag doll discarded by its owner. Her eyes were wide, fearful, and a huge red stain could be seen on her top. In the half light of the basement it appeared almost to be part of the design, but as both men looked they could see it growing, spreading onto the floor next to where she lay.

Immediately they understood. The bullet had found its mark after all – and that mark was Chloe's chest.

"Chloe!" shouted Oliver. He broke free from Jimmy's grip, and rushed over to her side, kneeling next to her and carefully lifting her head from the ground so that he could cradle her in his arms.

"Chloe, it's going to be okay, yeah? Everything is going to be okay," he said breathlessly, stroking her head. He could see there was a lot of blood, but mercifully it seemed as if the bullet had missed her vital organs. She looked pale, as if the loss of blood was literally draining the color from her features. But it was her eyes which he found most shocking; they stared at him, wide and filled with terror.

"Oliver..." she began, but then words failed her; it was as if the impossibility of the situation had rendered her speechless.

"Ssshhh," he replied soothingly, pulling her a little closer. He leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead; as he did so he struggled to hold back the tears which he could feel welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"I...I... I'm sorry," stammered Jimmy. Oliver shot him a glance of pure hate, before returning his attention to his stricken lover. Jimmy simply stood, rooted to the spot, ashen faced; the enormity of what he had done was almost too much for him to take in. The gun slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor with a loudness which in itself seemed a reproach. He could not understand, he could not comprehend, how in a matter of a few moments his world could be so cruelly turned upside down. Everything he had worked for, everything he had dreamed of, lay in the dirt of that basement floor. At that moment it seemed as if his life was over; there could be no coming back from this.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he continued, almost as if he were pleading for some sort of forgiveness. "Chloe, I'm sorry...I love you..."

"Call 911," demanded Oliver, his voice hard, even as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. "She needs help, Jimmy – she needs help now!"

Jimmy stared dumbly at Oliver's scowling face, and then at Chloe's lifeless body. Suddenly it was if a switch was flipped in his mind; he reached for his cell, and began to dial the number.

"It's okay, Chloe – I'm here. Everything is going to be just fine – I promise. Stay with me now, you here? I love you too much to lose you now."

Oliver struggled to control his emotions as he looked down at Chloe. She looked so frightened, it was almost unbearable; he loved her so much, and to see her like this – scared, hurt, uncertain – it made him feel as if his heart would break.

He glanced over at Jimmy, who was holding his cell to his ear. He could hear the voice speaking to him at the other end of the line, but Jimmy was not answering; instead his eyes were fixed on Chloe, glazed and empty.

"Jimmy, what the hell are you doing? Tell them we need an ambulance, damnit!" implored Oliver, sensing something was wrong.

"No...No – we don't need anyone," he said quietly, closing his cell and replacing it in his pocket.

"Jimmy, what the hell are you doing? If we don't get her to a doctor she's going to die – do you understand that? Chloe will die, Jimmy – is that what you want?"

"We don't need anyone," repeated Jimmy. "Chloe and I are going to be together – that's all that matters."

Oliver sensed that the situation was slipping away from him. He needed to get Chloe to a doctor, before the blood loss became critical. He glanced at the gun, which lay discarded at Jimmy's feet. In an instant he had made his decision; he made a desperate lunge for it, stretching out to take possession of the weapon that would allow him to take control of events. Unfortunately for Oliver, Jimmy had the same thought. His closeness to the weapon meant he made it to it first, and the only reward Oliver received for his attempt was a kick to the head which sent him sliding a couple of feet across the floor.

Jimmy walked across to where Chloe lay. The pool of blood was large now, and it was clear that she was struggling to remain conscious. Jimmy knelt by her side, stroking her hair as Oliver had done moments before.

"I'm sorry, Chloe," he said, his voice strangely calm. "You know I didn't mean for it to end like this. But don't worry – I'm going to make it all alright, I promise! We'll be together, just like I planned it. I've got this little cabin down by the lake – you're going to love it! It'll just be the two of us...just the two of us..."

"Jimmy, please, she needs help," gasped Oliver, recovering from blow to his jaw that Jimmy had inflicted. He could see that Jimmy had lost it, and that the shock of what he had done had meant that any remaining grip on sanity that he might have had was gone. He was capable of anything now – and every minute wasted was a minute that placed Chloe's life even more in danger.

"Shut - your- mouth!" ordered Jimmy, turning and pointing the gun straight at Oliver's head. "This is all your fault! Why did you have to come into our lives? Why? We were happy without you – Chloe, Clark and me. But then you had to come along – you've ruined everything, do you hear? Well you're not having her – she's mine! Mine!"

As Jimmy spoke tears flowed down his face, tears of rage and frustration. His anger was palpable, his ravings confirming what Oliver already knew about his captor's fragile grip on reality.

Jimmy got to his feet. There was a sense of purpose to him now, as if he knew what he had to do.

"Pick her up," he ordered, pointing at Chloe with the gun before directing it back at Oliver's head.

"Jimmy..."

"Do it!"

Silently Oliver did as he was told, lifting Chloe from the ground as gently as he was able. Pain showed on her face as he took her in his arms, the flickering of her eyelids and an almost inaudible whimper signalling her distress. She was slipping in and out of consciousness now, barely aware of the events that were unfolding around her. Blood was everywhere, and as Oliver stood and waited for instructions he could feel it soaking into his t shirt. The warm, moist sensation made him feel physically sick; he was losing her, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Move!" commanded Jimmy, indicating that Oliver should climb the stairs. Oliver complied, aware as he began his ascent that Jimmy was just a few steps behind, pointing the gun straight at him. Once they reached the apartment Jimmy directed him to the left, away from the front door. For a moment Oliver couldn't work out what the other man intended, but everything soon became clear; a rear entrance to Jimmy's home opened up onto a concrete area, where Jimmy's car stood waiting.

"Put her here," he ordered, opening the door on the passenger's side. Again Oliver did as he was told, and as he placed Chloe carefully into the empty seat he decided he had to try to make one last appeal to Jimmy to take Chloe to hospital. He didn't know exactly what the photographer was planning, but his instincts told him that they were all in immense danger; somehow he had to break through, to convince Jimmy that his love for Chloe must outweigh his selfish need to win her at all costs.

"Jimmy, she needs help," he pleaded, desperation writ large on his face. "Do whatever you want to me, but please – I'm begging you – get Chloe to a doctor. You say you love her – surely you don't want her to die? She needs..."

"She needs _me_, that's all. No one else – just me!"

"Okay, Jimmy – take it easy, yeah? You can have her. I'll never see her again – I'll walk away, go back to Star City. That's what you want, isn't it? You can have her, Jimmy – but please, get her to a hospital, before it's too late."

For a split second Jimmy hesitated, wrong footed by Oliver's apparent willingness to give up the woman he loved. For Oliver, it was a sacrifice he had to make – his love for Chloe was so deep, he would do anything to save her.

"I knew you didn't love her," he responded eventually, his eyes sparkling with an excitement born of an apparent revelation. "I knew it! If you truly loved her like I did you'd never be prepared to give her up – never!"

"Jimmy..." began Oliver, his heart sinking as he realised that his last throw of the dice had failed. Jimmy's obsession with Chloe was too self-centred, too narrow, for him to understand the true nature of love. He only knew what _he_ wanted – and any compromise on that was intolerable.

"Shut up! I've heard enough of you to last me a life time," said Jimmy, moving to the trunk of the car and opening it up. "Now get in."

Jimmy gestured at the empty trunk. Oliver hesitated, but knew he had no choice; at least like this he would be near Chloe, and there might be a chance to rescue her at some point in the future. Slowly he clambered inside, lying down awkwardly in the cramped space.

"Jimmy, what are you going to do? This isn't..." Oliver's words were cut short by Jimmy bringing the butt of the gun down hard on his head, knocking him unconscious.

Satisfied with his work, Jimmy slammed the trunk shut. He then moved round the car and took his seat at the wheel, closing the door behind him. He glanced across at Chloe, who sat lifeless beside him. She looked so peaceful, it was as if the events of the previous hour had not happened; only the obscene stain on her clothing gave any clue that something was wrong.

_It's okay, Chloe – everything is going to be okay now. We're going to be together forever – I promise you._

He started the car, and pulled out into the street beyond.

* * *

Did you guess it would be Chloe? It was always going to be her or Oliver - shooting Jimmy would be too easy, wouldn't it? Some desperate chapters ahead, as we move towards the climax of this story...

Hope you enjoyed it. It's not been a great week for Chlollie fans, but I hope everyone can stay positive. Please post a review if you can - every single one is appreciated SO much!


	11. Chapter 11: Closure

**Chapter Eleven: Closure**

_Why?_

Again and again Jimmy came back to that same question. Why had it all gone so terribly wrong? Why had Chloe gone to his apartment? Why had she found _him_? Why had the bullet hit her, and not the man who had ruined everything he'd ever dreamed of? So many questions, but there were no answers – at least none that made sense, anyway. Everything was ruined. All that he had worked for, all that he had planned for – all gone, destroyed in a matter of minutes. _And it had been going so well!_ Just one more shot of Zed and Queen would have been dead, and he could have slipped easily into the role of faithful friend to a grieving Chloe, the ever-reliable Jimmy. And later...who knows? He felt sure that she would have come to love him eventually, appreciate all that he could offer once she was no longer dazzled by that fake smile and a billionaire's bank balance.

There would be none of that now, of course; no happy ending, no fulfilment of a dream. There was no escaping the hard truth of what had happened. He had but one course of action left to him, a reality that he understood all too well...

He glanced at the clock in front of him, the digital display telling him that he had been driving for over two hours now. Not that he had any real appreciation of the passage of time, his mind reeling from the shocking turn of events that had unfolded back at his apartment. All he had done on leaving his home was to drive. It hadn't mattered initially where he'd driven, as all he'd wanted was space to think and clear his head. But right from the moment he'd pulled away from his apartment he'd known deep down his ultimate destination. It was true that for a time he had contemplated going to the hospital; hell, at one stage he'd come within one block of Metropolis General. But the truth was he couldn't do it. He couldn't take her there, knowing full well that to do so would be to lose her forever – more than that, to lose her to _him_. He'd been through too much to entertain such an outcome. Face years in prison, knowing every day that he had her, that they were together? No, it was impossible – he would not, could not, allow it. Sure, Oliver said he would get out of their lives for good, but he didn't believe it – sooner or later he'd return, and all would be ruined once more. No, going to hospital was not an option – which left only one possible course of action...

He glanced across at Chloe. She had been unconscious since they had left the apartment, and only the large stain caused by the gunshot wound gave any clue as to her perilous position. He'd hastily improvised a makeshift bandage, and this had gone some way towards staunching the flow of blood; nevertheless, Jimmy knew that her injury was serious. He was thankful that she was not awake, so that he did not have to face her questions, her pleas for Oliver, her pain. Instead he could look at her face, which seemed even more beautiful drained of its color, and call to mind happier times, times when his dreams still had a chance of becoming reality...

_Soon it will be over, Chloe – I promise. Soon the pain will disappear, and we will be together, just as it was always meant to be._

A loud thump sounded somewhere to his rear. Jimmy frowned, the reminder of Oliver's presence in the trunk an unwelcome interruption. He'd already had to make one stop to bind and gag his rival, who'd long since regained consciousness, but it hadn't been enough; for the last thirty minutes or so the sound of his captive's struggles to escape had accompanied his drive through the streets of Metropolis and out into the countryside. He was nearing his destination now, and the problem of what to do with Oliver could be ignored no longer. He knew one thing, and that was he was not going to allow the man who had ruined everything to complete the journey; he and Chloe must be alone at the end, without his presence contaminating the moment. But what to do with him? It was dark now, and the roads he was travelling on appeared deserted. He just needed to find the right spot, the right place to do what he should have done all those months earlier when he held that gun in his hand...

And then he remembered_. Of course!_ It would be perfect, and was just a couple of minutes' drive from where he was at that moment. His pulse quickening, he drove on for a minute or so more, before taking a left onto a narrow track. The road was not properly surfaced, and the car lurched from side to side as it made its way over the uneven ground. Jimmy could not help but smile to himself as he thought of his prisoner being tossed about in the trunk a few feet behind him. The adrenalin was pumping now, and the disasters of the previous few hours were momentarily forgotten as he felt the thrill of knowing that at last he would achieve some form of closure, even if it was not what he had originally intended.

It didn't take him long to reach his destination, pulling up just short of the end of the track. In front he could just make out a narrow path winding off into the darkness. As he took his gun from his pocket he looked across at Chloe, and was relieved to see that her eyes remained closed; he did not want her to witness what he was about to do. As he stepped from the car a strong gust of wind almost took his breath away. A storm was approaching fast, and looking up he could see clouds turning the night sky an inky black. He quickly made his way around to the rear of the car, sensing the heavy spots of rain which were already starting to fall. He opened the trunk, before grabbing Oliver and dragging him out. The young hero fell heavily to the ground, unable to move due to the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles.

"Stay still!" ordered Jimmy, as he knelt down to untie Oliver's feet; he had no intention of carrying the other man the short distance to where he expected his rival to meet his end. Quickly he undid the knot that held Oliver secure. He then gestured for him to get to his feet, before indicating with the gun the direction in which he was to walk. Oliver stumbled forward a couple of steps, but then came to a halt next to where Chloe sat motionless in the car. Jimmy could see the desperation in the other man's eyes, the fear that it was all already too late. His lip curled into a sneer of satisfaction. This time there would be no last minute stay of execution, no tearful reunion to stick in his throat; this time he would make sure that Oliver could not return to deny him one last time.

"Move!" he demanded, thrusting the barrel of the gun into Oliver's back. The young hero shot him a glance of pure hatred, before returning his gaze towards Chloe; he shouted her name into his gag, a muffled cry for her to wake up and reassure him she was still alive.

"I said move, you piece of shit!" This time there was anger in Jimmy's voice, and as he spoke he shoved Oliver forward. Oliver stumbled, before awkwardly falling to the ground.

"Do as I say, or you'll wish Lex had killed you after all!" hissed Jimmy, grabbing Oliver by the hair and pulling his head off the ground. The rain was falling heavily now, and Oliver's face was stained with drops of dirty water from the puddle into which he had fallen. He appeared defiant, grunting once more into his gag; Jimmy could not make out the words, the sound of the falling rain and the wind drowning out their meaning. Was he asking about Chloe? Almost certainly he wanted to know whether she was still alive. Jimmy did not care; he had no intention of giving his rival the solace of knowing that Chloe continued to live, even as he breathed his last. Roughly he hauled Oliver to his feet, before propelling him forward and away from the car. This time Oliver was more cooperative, and the two men began to make their way down the track that stretched out into the darkness in front of them.

_Does he know what's going to happen? _The question appeared in Jimmy's head as he watched Oliver walk in front of him. He suspected that he must have an inkling, that he knew that this path did not lead to some hideout in which he would be left, bound and gagged. This was the endgame, and Oliver knew it; he knew he was never going to retrace his steps back along this path.

_What must it be like, knowing you're going to die? _Jimmy didn't know, but he hoped that Oliver was afraid – more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He wanted that small triumph, the knowledge that at the end he hadn't just won, but that he had broken Oliver in a way that even Lex had failed to do. It would be some minor consolation for the failure of his plan, and for the countless times he had had to endure the self-satisfied smugness of this man that he loathed so much.

_This time there will be no last gasp rescue, Oliver – this time you __**will**_ _die!_

They walked for about a minute, until the path took a sharp turn to the right. Oliver stopped when he saw what lay around the corner; the track led onto a narrow footbridge, which crossed a deep valley. The sides of the gorge fell away steeply to either side of them, and the sound of a fast flowing river somewhere far below mixed with the noise of the pouring rain to create an ominous roar. It was clear from Oliver's hesitation that he understood that this was journey's end, and that his time was finally up.

"Move!" ordered Jimmy, shoving his captive forwards. A few paces further and they were both on the bridge, an inky blackness to either side of them making it feel almost as if they were stepping out into a void. Jimmy forced Oliver on, pressing the barrel of the gun into his back; the bridge was narrow, and swayed alarmingly as they moved further out towards the center. The wind was stronger here, lashing the rain against the two of them and soaking them still further. Jimmy didn't care; the effect of the wind and rain only served to heighten the drama of the moment, and the sense of desperation of his victim.

"That's far enough!" he shouted eventually, struggling to be heard against the sound of the elements that now swirled around them. He then struck Oliver on the back with the butt of his gun, forcing the young hero to his knees. Oliver was taken by surprise by the blow, and it was easy for Jimmy to grab him by the collar of his jacket and drag him to the side of bridge, so that he was perched perilously at its edge.

"Goodbye, Oliver," he said, staring at the back of the other man's head as he raised the gun and levelled it at his skull. "I hope you rot in hell!"

He hesitated for a moment, his finger poised on the trigger. He was shaking, and brought his other hand up to steady his aim.

_Think of what he's done to you, Jimmy! Do it – pull the trigger and end it once and for all!_

He closed his eyes, and fired.

The shot rang out, echoing above the sound of the wind and rain. Jimmy's eyes snapped open, to find...

Nothing.

Where Oliver had knelt just moments before, there was now just an empty space.

He stepped forward, and stared down into the void below him. He could see nothing, but instinctively he knew...

Finally, Oliver Queen was dead.

* * *

Sorry you've had to wait a long time for the update. I've been really busy, and for some reason my inspiration to write has just dried up recently - getting this chapter out was not easy. Got there in the end, and another cliffhanger for you. Will Oliver survive? What does Jimmy have planned for Chloe? I'm afraid you are going to have to wait to find out...

Next update could be in a week, but more likely it will be in two weeks - as I say, I'm finding writing really difficult at the moment. Please leave a review if you can - the way I feel, a little encouragement is really needed!


	12. Chapter 12: Deliverance

**Chapter Twelve: Deliverance**

He was falling.

Oliver could feel the rush of the air against his skin as he plummeted downwards into the inky blackness. His eyes were clamped tightly shut, an involuntary response to the moment. Not that it made any difference; he knew that even if they were open he would be able to see nothing, the blackness of the night enveloping all. He wanted to cry out, but the tape that had been wrapped around his head made it impossible. Thus, blind and mute, only his ears gave him any clue as to his fate, the rush of the air and the roar of the storm seeming to get louder and louder by the second...

But, terrifying as the sounds that surrounded him were as he continued to tumble through the air, they also told him something else, something that filled him with hope even as all appeared lost.

_He was alive!_

He'd heard the shot ring out, and had toppled forwards at that exact same moment. He'd known that it was his only hope of escape, to pray that Jimmy's bullet by some miracle missed its mark and to take his chances with the raging waters below. It was a plan born of utter desperation, but he knew that he had no alternative; he had to hope that his run of luck had not run out, and that Jimmy's nerve would somehow fail him at the moment of decision. A part of him was shocked that Jimmy had done it, that he'd found the courage to pull the trigger. He had, of course - but, miraculously, Oliver's luck had held. He was aware of a burning sensation on the side of his head, but nothing more. He was wounded, certainly, but the fact that he was still conscious, could still feel the rush of the air as he hurtled towards the waters below, told him that, incredibly, he was still alive. Again he had cheated death – but for how long?

Suddenly his entire body spasmed as it was enveloped by ice cold water. The roar of the wind and rain disappeared as he plunged deep into the river, the shock of the near silence almost as great as the sudden change in temperature. He wanted to take a breath, but fortunately the gag prevented him; one gulp and his chances of survival would have been drastically reduced. And he was now in a battle for survival, just as surely as he had been up on the bridge. He may have escaped Jimmy's bullet, but there was no guarantee he would make it out of this river alive.

The current was strong, and he could feel himself being swept forward by the fast flowing waters. He knew he had to get to the surface if he was to have any chance at all, but with his hands still bound tightly behind his back his ability to make it was severely limited. He was normally a strong swimmer; hours spent doing lengths in his pool had long been a part of his regular training routine. Only now did he fully appreciate just how important his arms were in those long sessions in the pool; without them he could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the freezing waters.

Desperately he tugged at his bonds, straining every sinew to loosen the knots that held his arms in place. It was pointless; Jimmy had taken no chances when binding him, and now the water was saturating the fibres of the rope, tightening it still further.

He kicked for the surface, thrusting his legs downwards with all the force he could muster. Looking upwards, he could see nothing but darkness, the pitch black of the night sky giving him no clue as to how close he was to the surface. It felt as if every muscle in his body would burst as he strained upwards, but the power of the current and the unyielding strength of the rope combined to make a mockery of his attempt to save himself from what increasingly seemed like the inevitable. The waters swept him onwards, the forces of nature rendering his efforts hopeless.

His lungs were painful now; starved of oxygen, they cried out for a breath of life-giving air. AC's face flashed into his mind, his face wreathed in that broad grin that was his trademark. AC could save him, could pluck him from this raging torrent in an instant, but he knew it was not to be; AC was hundreds of miles away, guarding Lex. Clark could save him, of course, but even had he not been gagged, even if he'd been able to cry out for help, he doubted whether the Kryptonian would come; so much had happened, their friendship could never be the same. No, there was no one to save him, no cavalry waiting to ride to the rescue; he was alone – quite alone.

He was becoming light headed now, the effects of being deprived of air at last taking their toll. It wouldn't be long now – not long before he slipped into the unconsciousness that was the prelude to certain death. As his mind started to drift he found himself thinking of Chloe, her smiling face staring back at him through the haze that was fast filling his mind. She looked so beautiful, so innocent – truly, he felt himself the luckiest man alive to have even spent a few days with such a wonderful spirit. Perhaps it was inevitable that it would end like this. Their lives were too dangerous, their love too perfect, for it to last forever. At least they would be together again in the next life...he'd meet her in the next life...

Suddenly Chloe's face disappeared, to be replaced with an image of her lying, helpless, in a pool of blood. The shock of the image momentarily brought Oliver back to reality. It couldn't end like this – it just couldn't! He had to live – he had to save her, whatever the cost...

Again he kicked for the surface, even as his lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Again his effort counted for nothing, as the current continued to sweep him forwards. At that moment it seemed as if all was lost, as if the fates truly were conspiring against him.

And then it happened.

A searing pain to his side, as suddenly he came to a juddering halt. For a split second he could not understand what was going on. The waters continued to rage around him, but inexplicably he no longer seemed to be at their mercy. What was this? Then he realised, as he felt the press of something hard against his chest. He had hit an obstacle, almost certainly a tree overhanging the river bank, and by some miracle he was lodged against it.

It was a chance, albeit a slim one. Quickly he tried to anchor himself more firmly into the space where he was stuck, whilst at the same time levering himself upwards towards the air. He needed to work quickly, as at any moment the waters might conspire to dislodge him and send him once more cascading down the river's channel. But he wasn't going to allow that to happen. Not now – not now he had an opportunity to live, and to save the woman he loved. Reserves of strength which by any of the laws of nature ought not to have been there propelled him towards the surface, his muscles seizing every chance to cling as tightly as possible to the wood that offered him the hope of life.

_Air!_

His nostrils flared as he breathed in the cool air that suddenly flowed around his head, filling his lungs and cooling the fires that had threatened to consume him from within. He'd made it – he'd made it to the surface! Not for the first time he offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle of deliverance from what had appeared to be the certainty of death. The wind and rain raged around him as he rested for a moment, exhausted by what he had endured. He knew it wasn't over, and that he might still be too late.

But at least now he had a chance.

A chance to save Chloe.

* * *

Sorry for the delay wth this chapter, and for the fact that it is a bit short. A combination of a lack of inspiration, personal issues and too much work mean that writing has never been as difficult as it is at the moment. At least Ollie is alive - and Smallville is back next week! Can't wait to see Justin back on my screen.

Thanks to those of you who are sticking by me and keep on reviewing - you know how much your support matters to me, and without you I would certainly be giving up now. Please do review if you can - it would be great to get some feedback.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up - the next few weeks look like they are going to be crazy. Stick with me - I promise I won't leave this story unfinished!


	13. Chapter 13: A Beautiful Place to Die

**Chapter Thirteen: A Beautiful Place to Die**

_I love this place – I love this place so much!_

Jimmy stood on the porch of the cabin, leaning on the rail as he stared out over the lake. The sun was rising out in front of him, its rays glinting on the still waters as they announced the arrival of a new day. The air felt warm and moist, the effects of the earlier storm still lingering in the atmosphere. But the wind and rain of the night had passed, and now, as he stood looking out at a landscape that he had known and loved since his childhood, there was an eerie calm. Only the occasional sound of a fish breaking the surface of the water disturbed the silence; even the birds had yet to make their presence felt with their inevitable dawn chorus. All was still – all was perfectly still.

Jimmy took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air. This had always been his favorite time of day. He didn't quite know why – perhaps it was the silence before the rush and noise of the daily routine, perhaps it was the unique freshness of the air that only dawn could produce. Whatever the reason, he was glad that this, at least, would go as he wanted it. After all the tumult of the night before, he was now completely at peace. He knew what he had to do, and the preparations had been made – there was nothing more to be done. So here he was, enjoying this most idyllic of settings for one last time.

_This truly is a beautiful place to die._

In his heart he'd known that it would come to this. From the moment that shot had rung out in the basement, there really could be no other ending. As Chloe had fallen wounded to the floor so too had all his hopes and dreams of a new life with the woman he loved. He had come so close, but it was not to be – perhaps it was inevitable that it would turn out like this. People like him never won. He was Jimmy Olsen, after all; one of life's runner's up. But he would not be defeated – not this time. He might have failed to win Chloe in this life, but he could still win her in the next, and it was this thought that had driven him on during those long hours driving through the night. Killing Oliver had provided a momentary distraction, and he had to admit he had enjoyed staring into those fearful eyes as he had marched the young billionaire to his death. Putting a bullet into his rival's skull had given him an opportunity for catharsis, but it was only fleeting; even as Oliver was plunging to his death Jimmy was already thinking of this moment, and how he would make his end with Chloe as perfect as possible. It had to be in this place, and at this time – a time which had at last arrived.

He took one last look at the lake, a place where he had spent so many happy days with his brothers when he was young. He'd planned to bring Chloe here, of course – this is where he'd hoped their friendship would have developed into something more. They would have gone sailing together, maybe even swimming under the moonlight before cuddling up in front of the fire as the air began to chill. All a dream now, of course – but at least she was here, and they could go together into the next world.

He turned and walked slowly back into the cabin. It was tiny, nothing more than one large room with a tiny bathroom attached. As a child he and his family had lived and slept together in this space, the communal existence adding to the sense of fun and adventure they had always felt when they came here to escape the city. There had always been only one bed. Then it had been occupied by his parents, but now it was Chloe who lay there. She was sleeping, just as she had slept through the night; he had managed to staunch the flow of blood, but he knew that she was gravely injured, and that she couldn't have long now. Quietly he walked across to her bedside. He carefully perched himself on the edge of the bed, staring down at her face, which seemed so calm and serene. A blanket covered her wound, so that for a moment he allowed himself to imagine this scene in different circumstances – a world without Oliver, a world where he would not have done the terrible things he had done, a world where she loved him as much as he loved her. The thought gave him comfort, and a feeling of inner strength for the pain that the final act of this tragedy must bring.

Suddenly Chloe stirred, perhaps roused by the sense of someone close by. Instinctively Jimmy reached forward and stroked her hair, not sure as he did so whether he wanted her to wake up, or whether it would be better if she stayed unconscious for what was to come.

"Ssshhhh," he said quietly, hoping to reassure her.

"Oliver..."

Jimmy froze. That name – _his_ name – was like a dagger to his heart. It had almost been inaudible, but it was enough – enough to remind him of everything that had happened, and that, whatever he might have wanted, her love for his rival could not be crushed.

"Ssshhh," he repeated, after a pause. He didn't want her to wake now; he didn't want to have to answer her questions, or stare into those frightened, reproachful eyes.

But it was too late. She was clearly waking up, her head tossing from side to side and her brow furrowed in pain. Was that the pain of remembering? Or maybe it was the pain from her wound? He did not know, and nor did he have time to prepare himself, for suddenly, without warning, Chloe's eyes snapped open.

She stared wildly in front of her, for an instant not fully understanding what was happening. And then she tilted her head to the left, and their eyes met.

"Oliver...where's Oliver?" she demanded, her voice weak and fearful.

"Chloe..."

"What have you done with him? Jimmy, tell me!" She tried to lift herself from the bed, but she was too weak; almost as soon as she started to move she slumped back, the pain from her wound causing her features to crease with pain.

"We're together now, and that's all that matters," continued Jimmy, trying to keep his voice calm. He could see that she was starting to panic, and he didn't want their last moments together to be tainted by her anxiety over Oliver's fate.

"Jimmy, please, tell me you haven't hurt him," she pleaded, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. He knew as she spoke that she knew the truth; his silence only confirmed it.

"It's for the best, Chloe," he said at last, trying to ignore her sobs. "He wasn't right for you – deep down you know that, don't you? This way we can be together, just like it was always meant to be."

He reached out to stroke her hair. She recoiled from his touch, turning her head to the side so that she did not have to look into the eyes of the man whose twisted view of reality had robbed her of Oliver forever.

"I love you, Chloe," continued Jimmy, seemingly oblivious to her distress. "I love you more than he ever could. And you'll come to understand that – now that he's gone, now that we can be together..."

"I will _never _love you!" she exclaimed venomously, suddenly turning to confront her former friend. "You're sick, Jimmy – sick, do you hear? I loved Oliver more than you can ever imagine, and now you've taken him from me...I hate you, Jimmy! I hate you!"

For an instant Jimmy was taken aback by the force with which Chloe spoke her words. Physically she was weak, but somehow she had managed to conjure up from nowhere the emotional power to strike back at her abductor. And the words hurt – they hurt Jimmy more than any punch could ever do. To hear her say she hated him – _hated him _- when he loved her more than anything else in the world, was more than he could bear. How could she say such a thing? It was _him_, of course – even now, Oliver was poisoning her mind against him, clouding her eyes to their true destiny together. Well, soon they would be beyond his reach – soon they would be in a place where she would at last understand how much he truly loved her...

Saying nothing, Jimmy got up from the bed and walked to the side of the room. Chloe was relieved; Jimmy's physical presence, the knowledge that he had murdered Oliver, made her feel sick to her stomach. As she watched, however, her relief turned to terror, as at last it became clear to her how Jimmy intended this nightmare to come to an end. He had picked up a large can, and was pouring its contents carefully all around the bed. She didn't need to smell the fumes of the gasoline to know what he was planning; a fire, a fire to consume them both.

"Jimmy..." she said faintly, not knowing how to respond. It was all too fantastic, too incredible, for her to comprehend; not only had he killed Oliver, but now he intended to kill her too, in some sort of insane final act of love.

"I told you we would be together," he said finally, casting the can to one side before turning to look at her. He could see that she was scared, her eyes fixed on his, wide and fearful.

"Don't be afraid," he said, perching once again on the side of the bed. "It won't hurt – I promise."

He pulled out a small plastic bottle from his inside jacket pocket, unscrewing it before offering it up to her lips.

"Here, drink this," he said, placing it against her lips. She turned away, understanding instinctively that this offer of a drink was no innocent gesture; his next words only confirmed her worst fears.

"It's just a sedative," he said soothingly. "A few sips and you will drift away into sleep. This way the flames won't hurt you – you'll just wake up on the other side. And I'll be there waiting, Chloe – waiting to start our new life together."

The madness in his words was chilling; it was clear now that there could be no reasoning with him. The old Jimmy was gone, to be replaced by a monster, filled with delusions that no words could shatter.

Chloe tried to move, but he was too quick for her. Swinging himself up and onto the bed, he straddled her firmly, so that his legs pinioned her arms to her sides. He grabbed her chin, pulling her face upwards so that he could pour the drugged drink down her throat. She clamped her mouth shut, but he was ready for that. He pinched her nose with his free hand, and then waited for nature to take its course.

"Don't fight it, Chloe – it's for the best," he said, staring down into eyes now filled with a silent terror.

The seconds passed, the two of them locked in a deadly embrace. Eventually, as both of them knew must happen, Chloe's lungs could stand it no more; she opened her mouth to take a gulp of desperately needed air. It was all the opportunity Jimmy needed; in a matter of seconds he'd poured the liquid down her throat, before clamping her mouth shut and forcing her to swallow.

"Ssshhhh, it will soon be over," he whispered. The sedative worked quickly, and already Chloe's eyes were beginning to flicker as she drifted towards unconsciousness.

"Soon it will be over – soon the pain will go away," he continued, again stoking her hair tenderly as at last her feeble struggles ceased, and her eyelids closed one last time.

"Get the hell away from her!"

Jimmy froze. That voice – it couldn't be! It wasn't possible...It just wasn't possible!

"I said, get the hell away from her!"

This time there could be no doubt. Knowing who he was about to see, but still not quite believing it was possible, Jimmy turned and looked over his shoulder – to find himself staring at the unmistakeable figure of the Green Arrow, his crossbow pointed straight at his head.

"But...you can't be...I saw you fall...!"

"I'm not an easy guy to kill – you should know that by now," replied Oliver, not taking his eyes from his former kidnapper. "Now I won't ask again – get the hell away from her, you sick piece of shit!"

Oliver was struggling to contain his anger. He felt empowered by the uniform of the Green Arrow, the smell and feel of the leathers giving him the courage to ignore the pain of the injuries and abuse he had suffered at Jimmy's hands. His sense of relief that Chloe was still alive was almost overwhelming, but the smell of the gasoline was a warning that this wasn't over yet; he may have cheated death once, but he still needed to save Chloe, and Jimmy's mental state meant that anything could happen...

Dumbly, at last Jimmy complied. He stepped off the bed, never once taking his eyes from the young hero whose imposing figure now filled the doorway to his tiny cabin. He felt stunned – stunned that yet again his rival had managed to cheat death, stunned that yet again his dreams were about to be shattered once more...

"What have you done to her?" asked Oliver, stepping towards the bed. "If you've hurt..."

"She's just sleeping...just sleeping," replied Jimmy, seemingly in a daze.

At last Oliver risked taking his eyes off Jimmy, glancing down at Chloe's unmoving form. She looked terrible, her features drained of all color – but at least she was alive. He just needed to get her to a hospital...

"Move over there," ordered Oliver, nodding for Jimmy to stand as far away from the bed as possible. "I'm taking her to hospital – before it's too late."

At that moment something inside Jimmy snapped. Instead of doing as he had been ordered, he suddenly lunged forward, driving the full force of his body into Oliver's and slamming the young hero against the wall. Momentarily winded, Oliver doubled –over in pain, cursing himself that he had allowed his guard to slip. Jimmy, possessed of reserves of energy that did not seem possible, did not let up in his attack; instinctively he grabbed the discarded gasoline can from the floor, before bringing it crashing down on Oliver's head. The young hero fell to his knees under the force of the blow, lifting his arms to protect himself from further attack. It was a futile gesture; Jimmy kicked him in the gut, causing him to roll up in a foetal position on the wooden floor boards. Now the young hero had no defense as Jimmy rained blows down upon him, kicking him time and time again before finally knocking him unconscious with a blow to the head from the gas can.

Exhausted, Jimmy at last stopped, dropping his improvised weapon to the ground. Before him lay Oliver, his face a bloodied mess from Jimmy's merciless assault. Jimmy felt exhilarated; despite everything, he would triumph after all.

"She's mine!" he gasped, staring down at the unconscious hero. "Do you hear that, Oliver? She's mine – and you'll never have her!"

He then turned and looked at Chloe, sleeping peacefully on the bed just a few feet away.

"Not long now, Chloe," he whispered, clambering onto the bed beside her. He took a box of matches from the small table next to the bed, before carefully taking one from the box and striking it. He held it in his hand for a moment, watching the flame dance silently in the air.

This was it – the time had come.

"I love you, Chloe."

He then let the match fall onto the gasoline soaked floorboards below.

* * *

Did you think I had given up? Well, to be honest I have come close. Life has been so complicated over the last few weeks, it has been SO difficult to find the time or the inspiration to write again. But I said I would finish this story - and here we are, building to the climax. Just one more chapter to go - and that WILL be posted soon.

Great to see Oliver back on our screens. The Chlollie has been heartbreaking, and what lies ahead for Oliver looks like it will be really exciting (I won't say what, just in case you don't want to be spoiled). As for me, I have another story in my head which I may write after this one - it is going to be epic and full of angst, and I've just got to work out whether I'm ready for the commitment it will involve. Some reviews might convince me to keep on writing - please do post one if you can, they mean so much! And thanks to those who have reviewed recent chapters - your support is why I have not just walked away from this altogether.


	14. Chapter 14: My Knight in Green Leather

**Chapter Fourteen: My Knight in Green Leather**

It was the heat that Oliver was aware of first – a scorching, all pervasive heat, which seemed to envelope him like a shroud. The ground on which he lay felt like a bed of hot coals, but the air all around was even worse; as he breathed he could feel his lungs filling with the acrid smoke and fumes which now swirled around the tiny cabin.

He choked, for a moment coughing uncontrollably as his body sought to reject the impurities from which there appeared to be no escape. It was a cough that saved his life, bringing him back to consciousness; a few moments more and the poisons in the smoke would have overwhelmed him, and made certain that he never woke again. For a few seconds he lay still, memories of his confrontation with Jimmy tumbling all too vividly into his mind. He remembered the young photographer's anger as he attacked him, the insanity of his rage writ large on his face as he beat him again and again. And then... what? He recalled the smell that had filled his nostrils as he had entered the cabin, the heavy, sickly sweet smell of gasoline...

His eyes snapped open. Instinctively he knew what would greet him, but despite this the sight of flames licking across the ceiling above him made his heart miss a beat. So he'd done it – in his madness Jimmy had set light to the cabin! Quickly Oliver looked to his left and right, his training kicking in; he needed to assess the situation, size up the danger, identify potential escape routes. The fire had taken hold quickly, engulfing the walls of the cabin and now stretching its flames across the ceiling above him. Debris was starting to fall from the beams, red hot cinders floating down and scorching his skin. The cabin was made almost entirely of wood, and the addition of the gasoline meant that it was going up like a tinder box. He knew he didn't have much time – if he had any time at all...

He leapt to his feet, ignoring the pain from the cuts and bruises from Jimmy's attack just moments earlier. His safety didn't matter at that moment – all that mattered was to get to Chloe, to get her to safety before the cabin was engulfed by the growing inferno. He turned towards the bed. The sight that greeted him was like something from a horror movie. Chloe lay absolutely still, her face serene as the flames rose high all around her. To her side was Jimmy, staring intently at her unmoving form and seemingly immune to the terrifying scene that was unfolding all around. For the bed was like an island in a sea of flame, the trail of gasoline that Jimmy had spread forming what looked like an impenetrable ring all around them. It was like some ancient sacrifice, the product of some movie director's fevered imagination. But this was no piece of fiction. This was happening – now, right in front of him.

Oliver could see that he had only moments to save Chloe before Jimmy's terrible fantasy became reality. Without thinking he pulled up his hood and leapt forward, throwing himself over the flames which now rose five or six feet in the air. It was a desperate act, but there was no alternative; he could hear the beams above him beginning to creak and groan, a sign that their collapse was imminent. Never before had he been so glad of his costume, the leathers protecting him from the searing heat of the flames; nonetheless, he could still feel the flesh on his arms burn as he dashed to Chloe's side. He leaned down to pick her up, only to find Jimmy reaching out and trying to grab hold of her. The eyes of the two men met, one filled with hate and desperation, the other with steely resolve. The moment lasted less than a second, before Oliver's fist connected with Jimmy's jaw and sent him sprawling across the bed, unconscious. Oliver did not pause; he wrapped Chloe as best he could in the bedclothes, taking care not to leave any skin exposed, before he scooped her up in his arms and turned once more to face the flames. Still she did not stir, and as he paused to look down at her face, now illuminated by the flames which roared all around them, he thought that perhaps he was too late; that in spite of all he had done, he would fail to save her after all.

"Stay with me, Chloe – please, stay with me," he whispered, leaning down and gently kissing her on her forehead. He didn't know if she was still alive; all he could do was to get her out of there, and hope – hope and pray like he'd never hoped and prayed before – that the power of their love would grant them one last miracle of deliverance.

He turned. The flames now reached from floor to ceiling, creating a terrifying wall to block his path. He did not flinch; hugging Chloe as close as he could to his chest, he buried his head in the blankets that covered her and leapt forward into the inferno. He passed through the flames in an instant, the skin on his arms peeling away under the intensity of the heat. He could feel his flesh burning, but he pushed himself forward; if this really was to be the end, he wanted to die fighting for the life of the one person in the whole world he truly loved. The sound of the fire filled his ears, a hellish symphony of snapping, crackling and groaning that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the earth. And the heat - the heat was unbearable! Burning into the flesh of his arms, scorching his cheeks and nose. He had to get out – he had to get out, to save them both. He staggered forward blindly, hoping to find the door which he knew must lay somewhere ahead of him. He dared not look up, for fear that to do so would burn the very flesh from his eyes and blind him forever. The door had to be there – it just had to be...

And then, suddenly and without warning, he was out. Where once there was heat and noise, now there was coolness and air that was fresh and breathable. At last Oliver dared to look up, in time to stop himself stumbling head first down the steps of the cabin. He checked himself, before carefully making his way down to the ground, all the time watching the still form of Chloe who lay in his arms. He jogged forwards, determined to get clear of the cabin; only once he was convinced he was at a safe distance did he stop, before gently laying his precious cargo to the ground.

He stared at her for a moment. She appeared so peaceful, her fragile, porcelain features at one with the calm stillness of the morning air. Tears began to well up in his eyes, as the strain of the last few minutes and hours at last found their release. Was he too late? It would be so simple to find out – just a tender touch to discover a pulse, or an ear placed close to her face to detect any sign of breathing, however shallow. It would be easy to know the truth, but something within him held him back. What if he really was too late? What if, after all they had endured together, they were to be cheated now, despite everything? He didn't know whether he would be able to cope with that – the idea of a life without this beautiful, precious woman who had transformed his life so completely. A future without Chloe was too terrible to even contemplate – and yet here he was, just moments away from either discovering that the future they dreamed of sharing would still come true, or whether, after all, the barren desolation of loss was all that he could look forward to in the months and years ahead.

Whatever fears that he might have been entertaining at that point, his need to know would not be denied. Saying a silent prayer to himself, he leaned down, placing his ear next to her face and hoping, hoping against all hope...

Breathing. She was breathing!

A surge of relief flooded through him as he felt the tiniest rush of air against his cheek, the sign that his fears were not to be realised after all. She was still with him, she was still alive...and at that moment Oliver Queen considered himself to be the most blessed man on the face of the planet.

The sound of crashing timbers caused him to turn. Behind him, the cabin was fully ablaze now, flames leaping high into the air as they broke through the roof. Oliver looked back at Chloe, and then stood up. Jimmy was still in there, and he knew what he had to do. Whatever had happened, however much harm and suffering he had caused, Jimmy was still a human being, and that was enough for Oliver. If the leathers he wore meant anything, they meant that he would always seek to preserve human life, whatever crimes that individual may have committed. That was what being a hero was all about, and Oliver knew that if Chloe were conscious she would understand that he had to return, he had to try and save Jimmy. He was the Green Arrow – he could do nothing else.

He ran back towards the cabin, calculating as he did so Jimmy's location in the burning building, and how best to get him out. Then, without warning, a huge explosion ripped through the cabin, the blast throwing Oliver to the ground. He shielded his face as debris began to fall all around him, momentarily shocked by what had happened. Something had exploded with a force strong enough to blow the cabin apart – a gas canister perhaps, or maybe another can of gasoline. Whatever it was, as Oliver looked in front of him at the mangled, blazing remains of what was once Jimmy's childhood vacation retreat, he knew that it was over; nothing could have survived that blast.

Jimmy Olsen was gone.

* * *

"How is she?"

Clark stood by Oliver's side, staring down at Chloe, who lay motionless in the hospital bed. The silence of the room stood in stark contrast to the sound and fury of the events at the cabin, the gentle, constant hum of the monitors rigged up beside the bed providing the only sounds to disturb the peace. Hours had passed since Oliver had brought her here, a few calls triggering the best care that the Queen fortune could provide. She'd needed surgery to extract the bullet, but it had gone well; the doctors had reassured Oliver that she was out danger. However, still he maintained his vigil by her bedside, determined to be there when at last she woke up. Physically he was exhausted, but something within him kept him going, forcing back the waves of tiredness that at intervals swept over him.

"She's going to be okay, Clark – she's going to be okay," replied Oliver, not taking his eyes from Chloe.

"And are you okay?" asked Clark, looking at the bandages that covered parts of Oliver's arms; it was clear that in saving Chloe the young hero had not escaped without injury.

"I'm fine – just some surface burns. Nothing that time can't heal."

"And Jimmy? I heard..."

"He didn't make it, Clark. I tried to get him out, but..." Oliver's voice tailed off, but he did not need to complete the sentence; his meaning was all too clear.

A period of silence followed. Both men knew what the other was thinking, recalling the accusations that had passed between them as Jimmy's plan had pushed their friendship to the very edge of the precipice.

"Oliver," began Clark, his voice hesitant as he felt his way towards the right words. "When I said those things, I didn't... Jimmy lied to me, Oliver, and ..."

"You thought I was using again?"

Clark paused, sensing the edge of anger in his friend's voice.

"I didn't know, Oliver. Jimmy fooled us all...I guess I should have..."

"It's okay, Clark – really," said Oliver, at last turning to face him. "Like you say, Jimmy fooled us all. Hell, if I was you _I _wouldn't have believed me either."

"I'm sorry," replied Clark, searching the other man's face for some sort of acceptance.

"I'm sorry, too, Clark – sorry that I thought you were trying to break me and Chloe apart."

The two men stared at each other for an instant. Both knew that they had been the victims of Jimmy's deceit, and that he had manipulated them like pawns on a chess board. But they also knew that the young photographer had played on deeper tensions in their friendship, jealousy over Chloe, and over their work together as heroes. They had both said things that had been better left unsaid, raw feelings that normally lay deep beneath the surface. They were ready to bury those feelings once more, but as they looked at each other they both knew that those tensions would never entirely go away.

"Oliver...?" Chloe's voice, frail and almost inaudible, broke the silence. Both men turned back towards the figure lying on the bed. As they watched her eyelids flickered open, and she turned her head almost imperceptibly in their direction.

"Hey! It's okay, Chloe – you're going to be okay," said Oliver, trying to contain the excitement in his voice. He gently took her hand, lifting it up and kissing it. "You're going to be okay, yeah? It's over – it's all over."

Chloe smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was enough; like some longed for sign, it seemed to signal to the two men who stood watch over her that everything really was going to be alright.

"So my knight in green leather saved me once again," she whispered, staring deep into his eyes."You know every girl should have their very own hero – you guys really do always come through, don't you?"

Oliver clasped her hand a little tighter, the relief he felt at that moment writ large on his face.

"I love you, you know that?" he said, his voice filled with certainty. "I love you so much, Chloe Sullivan."

"I love you too, Oliver Queen."

At that moment a nurse bustled into the room, apparently oblivious to the moment.

"Miss Sullivan needs her rest, Mr Queen," she said, her voice businesslike. "I'm afraid I must ask you and your friend to leave now."

Oliver did not take his eyes from Chloe's, unwilling to acknowledge that, for now at least, his reunion with his lover must end.

"You'd better go," she said. "I don't want you to get into any trouble."

"When I own this hospital? I don't think so."

She smiled. "Go!" she said, gently pulling her hand away from his.

Reluctantly Oliver got up from his seat.

"I'll be just outside," he said, before turning and following Clark from the room.

The two men did not speak as they stepped into the corridor, each lost in their own feelings of relief and thankfulness. It was a third voice, familiar but unexpected, that interrupted their thoughts.

"Guys!"

The two men turned, to find AC striding down the corridor towards them.

"AC! But how did you...?" began Oliver; he didn't think any of his team knew about the events of the previous hours, let alone know enough to turn up here at the hospital.

"I didn't," replied the young man. He looked serious, as if something was weighing on his mind. "I only found out about Chloe when I got into town an hour ago. Man, what the hell happened to Jimmy? I always thought he was a straight kinda guy."

"He lost it," said Clark, saving Oliver the pain of having to recount what had happened.

"Unreal, man – just unreal," said AC, shaking his head. "But that's not why I'm here. I've got news – news from Bateman."

Clark and Oliver exchanged glances. Bateman was the top secret Queen Industries facility where Oliver housed many of the villains he and the Justice League had swept from the streets over the past year, criminals that the normal processes of justice could not deal with. It was also the place where Oliver had imprisoned his most deadly opponent, the man who had so nearly succeeded in destroying him and all he loved just a few months earlier...

"It's Lex," said AC, an edge of tension in his voice. "Something's happened to Lex."

**The End**

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That's it! My fifth story finished. I hope you liked how it ended - Jimmy dead (and he _is_ dead, I promise - how long have some of you waited for this moment!), and Chloe safe, saved by Oliver in an act of pure heroism. I enjoyed writing about Green Arrow saving the day - seemed right to end it with a scene which reminds us what a great hero he really is!

And as for the last line...

Well, it is the setup for my next story, which will pick up exactly where this one leaves off. That is, if I write it - I have it all mapped out in my mind, but it will be a big commitment and I'm still not 100% sure I'm ready to take it on. I'll leave it up to you - if you tell me you want another story, I'll write it - if no one says anything, I'll leave it stored away in my imagination.


End file.
